


Goblins, Wizards, and Mob Bosses

by LadyWhiteKoiFish



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 04:43:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1538024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWhiteKoiFish/pseuds/LadyWhiteKoiFish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Marcone meet as teenagers and become friends, but time and circumstances pull them apart. But Marcone has not forgotten the boy who captivated his heart. Years later they meet again, but how will these two do when they don’t realize who the other is? SLASH!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Idea popped into my head and the concept begged to be written. Enjoy! You mainly see through Marcone’s POV. We see a lot through Harry’s POV in the original books, and I really wanted to delve into Marcone's character a bit. He always seemed so cool, calculating, and distant in the books, which is why I love him, but something in me wanted me to write him with a softer, more human side to him.  
> And please consider taking time after reading this story to leave me a little feedback about it, it will be greatly appreciated. Thank you!  
> Disclaimer: I do not own these wonderful characters, unfortunately. Fortunately, the wonderful Jim Butcher does!

The alley was dark and damp. Puddles of oil, mud, and urine all mixed together were spread out along the alleyway, but John paid them no mind as he went trampling through them, slinging up the messy concoction unto his dark wash jeans. His steps echoed off the building walls as he ran between them, desperately trying to get away from the monster that was after him.

 

It was deathly dark in that back alley, and if John hadn’t have traveled those very alleys before, he was sure he would have gotten lost. But as it were, he knew his way so well that he did not need light to navigate through them. He was very thankful for that fact now.

 

John’s legs hurt from running so fast and for so long, his lungs burned like liquid fire, and all he could hear was the rushing of blood through his ears. Every few seconds he would turn and look behind himself, every time catching the glimpse of a large shadow swallowing up two round orbs that glowed green in the night.

 

_Still there! It’s still after me!_ A voice inside his head screamed at him.  _Faster! Faster!_

 

He tried to pick up his feet more. To will his legs to move faster. But the adrenaline was wearing off now and after jumping two chain link fences and running through alleys for the past half hour, his body was reaching its limits. 

 

John heard a loud snarl resound off of the walls behind him and that sent another spike of fear and adrenaline through him. He made it out onto a dark street, turned right and then disappeared again into another dark alley.

 

_Maybe I can hide!_

 

John looked around him for a place to hide, but there was none. But he didn’t imagine that he could hide from the creature. At least, not for long. The thing seemed to be following his scent like a dog and not actually seeing where he was running. 

 

He could turn and fight him, John figured.  _No! That thing practically ate the bullets from my gun like they were pieces of candy. Then it really ate my gun after I ran out of bullets and threw it at it!_

 

But then, just as John was losing hope of out running the beast, a ray of light pierced through the dark alley, seeming to practically split it in two. A door had opened to a building and someone was coming out. A tall, lanky young man, carrying two bags of trash was coming out of the beam of light, his back turned to John and his pursuer.

 

“Hey!” John yelled to the young man, not really knowing what else to do. “Let me inside! There’s something chasing me!”

 

The man turned and looked at John, at first he looked agitated and about to tell him off, until he saw what was chasing John. As John drew closer to the other man, he saw the other man’s eyes grow wider and he couldn’t help thinking, “told you!”. But what happened next, John could never have foreseen.

 

“Get behind me!” Yelled the lanky stranger when John was about a foot away from him. The stranger stepped aside before reaching out for John and forcibly pushing him behind himself. John fell to his knees when the man pushed him, but quickly turned around to see the stranger placing himself in between him and the monster.

 

_He’s going to get himself killed!_

 

“No don’t!” Yelled John, struggling to get his aching legs back under himself. “You don’t know what’s after me!”

 

_Don’t be a hero, Stupid!_

 

“Actually, I do,” replied the stranger, voice confident and firm as he stood looking down the dark alleyway, in the direction that John had just come from. And for a moment both boys were quiet and still, listening to the thud of heavy feet getting louder and louder. Till a loud scream made them both jump.

 

John stood and reached for the stranger’s arm, gripping it firmly and trying to pulling him away from the monster as it sprinted toward them. But the stranger was stronger than John anticipated and just stood there.

 

“Stay behind me,” the stranger whispered, voice soft and reassuring and, somehow, comforting to John. The stranger nudged John back a bit and John, still on wobbly and weak legs, stumbled back, but he was ready to protest every second.

 

_What do I care if this idiot gets himself killed?!_ John’s inner voice hissed.  _I should leave now. Save myself!_ But even though he thought these things, he couldn’t leave the man. The man who was risking his life to save him, Johnny Marcone, punk juvenile delinquent. There was no doubting that was what he was, and one glance in his direction told everyone that. From his torn up jeans and leather jacket, to his bad attitude and Italian accent.  _Stupid boy!_

 

John stood behind the taller boy, fists clenched tight and ready for a fight. “We gonna really do this?” John asked, causing the stranger to turn and look at him, eyebrow raised in question.

 

“No,” replied the other boy, and for a second John thought that meant they were going to run for it. “I am. Just stand there.”

 

The beast tumbled closer, green eyes alight with anger and glee- from the thrill of the hunt, perhaps, John thought. Its big, ape like nostrils flaring as it breathed in and out through its mouth and nose, spit and mucus sliding down the monster’s chin. Its teeth a sad, mangled parody of humans, but looking just as frightening as any rabid dog’s would.

 

“Two soft humans whose flesh I will enjoy,” snarled the beast.

 

_Oh God! It talks!_ Thought John, literately feeling the blood drain from his face, his knees trembled and his heart lept up to his throat.  _We’re gonna die!_

 

“Not today,” hissed the stranger, as he stretched out his arm toward the beast, palm facing it.

 

_Yeah, like telling him to stop is really gonna work!_

 

“Now leave before I make your innards into soup,” continued the stranger.

 

_He’s got balls, I’ll give him that._

 

The beast looked perplexed for a moment as he sniffed the air, his monkey nose making horrible grunting noises as he did so. “Ah,” said the beast after awhile. “You are of the practice?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“But you are also young.”

 

“So? I’m still strong.”

 

“But are you strong enough?” And with that the monster leapt for the young boys, the stranger moved his hand to point at the creature and yelled out a few words in a language John believed was Latin. And as the monster came down, it looked as if it had hit an invisible wall before being slingshot into the nearest building and hitting the ground with a solid thud.

 

The monster grunted and groaned as it got to its feet and all that John could do was stand still, feet rooted to the spot.  _What had just happened!? I didn’t see anything! At least, I don’t think so._

 

The beast growled and ran at them again and John covered his face with his arms, but before it reached them it looked as if something from behind had grabbed him and slung him back down the alley again. And the stranger was, again, yelling furiously in broken Latin. John was sure it was Latin now.

 

Again the beast stood and charged at them and again he was smashed up against walls, dumpsters, and asphalt, until finally when it got up it ran the other way. The boys were silent as they watched the beast disappear into the night, and they stayed like that till they could no longer hear the heavy thuds of his foot falls.

 

“What,” started John, numbly, “on God’s, good, green earth was that!?”

 

The stranger turned to John, sheepish smile on his face. “That’s a long story. Maybe you should come in and I’ll try to answer your questions as best I can,” answered the stranger. “By the way, my name’s Harry.”

 

“Johnny,” replied John as they both went inside.

 

Once under the bright lights of the diner, John could finally see his savior clearly. He was a tall, young man with scraggly brown hair and in a dirty cooking apron that was a tad too short for him. Harry led them to a table in the front of the diner before asking John if he’d like anything to drink.

 

“Yeah, whatever’s fine,” replied John. Harry turned and looked him over, giving a sigh before disappearing back into the kitchen. John noticed how throughout their whole time together, Harry had seemed to be avoiding eye contact with him. He leaned back in his chair and wondered who this strange boy was, but before he could get to the conclusion that this stranger could possibly be as dangerous as the monster outside, said man had returned, two cokes in his hands and a sandwich.

 

“You looked hungry,” commented Harry as he placed down the items on the table and took a seat across from John.

 

John prickled at his words. Sure he had fallen on hard times, but he could take care of himself and didn’t need charity. Especially, not from this kid who, on closer inspection, actually looked younger than John, though taller.

 

“I don’t need your charity,” fumed John, looking away from the sandwich even as his stomach lurched in hunger.

 

“Hey, don’t get offended. It’s just when someone’s just been attacked by a goblin, it helps their nerves to eat something,” explained Harry, hands going up in surrender, but eyes looking down at the table top. “Besides, I have a feeling you have a lot of questions and we’re gonna be here awhile.”

 

John shrugged and looked around the diner. It looked to be closed and he and Harry were probably the only two there at the moment. “A sandwich is really gonna help with my nerves?” Asked John turning to look at Harry, whose eyes instantly focused on the bridge of his nose.

 

“Yeah, with the soda.”

 

“Okay.”

 

John reached for the sandwich and started asking his questions. The basics. What was it that attacked him? Why? What’s a goblin? And a multitude on how to avoid them in the future.

 

“Okay,” started John, his mind having a hard time wrapping around everything Harry just told him. “So, you’re telling me, that I somehow, unknowingly, angered a goblin. Which was that thing that attacked us and should not be mistaken for a hobgoblin which is a kind goblin. It chased me wanting to eat my flesh, because obviously goblins love soft, human flesh. Is that right?”

 

“Yes.” Harry smiled and it irked John, because he acted like this was all normal every day stuff for him.

 

_Wait a minute!_

 

Maybe it was normal everyday stuff for Harry. He had yet to ask who the young boy was or how he had stopped the goblin. Hadn’t the goblin said something about Harry before it attacked them? Yes. He said he was ‘of the practice’. What was the ‘practice’?

 

“What’s the practice?” asked John.

 

“It’s short for the practice of wizardry. Or sorcery, depending on what you do,” explained Harry, easily.

 

“There’s a difference?” Asked John, munching on the last piece of his sandwich.

 

“Yes.”

 

“So which practice are you of?”

 

“I’m a wizard,” answered Harry. “Well, sort of.”

 

“Sort of? How can you sort of be a wizard? The way I see it, is either you are or you aren’t,” explained John, giving Harry a puzzled look and slowly getting more agitated with how Harry always avoided eye contact with him.

 

“Well,” Harry went on to explain, “I’m still learning. You know how you go to school to be a doctor or lawyer. I go to school to be a wizard.”

 

“There’s a school for wizardry?”

 

“Well, yes and no. But I was just using the whole school idea as an example. You’re taking it too literally.”

 

“Well what do you expect!? Until about an hour ago, goblins, wizards and the like where all just fairytales to me!”

 

“Well now you know they obviously aren’t!’

 

“Obviously!”

 

“Well! You got any more questions or what!?” Harry huffed. And John stared, intensely, at him, but Harry was staring at someplace next to them.

 

“Yeah, just one more,” answered John. “Why don’t you look me in the eyes?”

 

Harry turned and looked down at the table as he explained. “It’s called a soul gaze. When you meet the eyes of a wizard, you get to see into their very soul. You can see their past, their thoughts, their regrets, their every dirty secret. But in return, they can see into your’s too. It’s an intense experience, and most wizards are taught how to avoid peoples’ gazes.”

 

“Really? Have you ever had one of these soul gazes before?”

 

“Yeah, a few times with some older wizards.”

 

For a minute John was thankful that they hadn’t had one of these soul gazes. He had a lot of skeletons in his closet and didn’t know if anyone else should see those. But then again, he wondered what Harry would see in him. Harry was a young boy working the grave yard shift at a diner in a very bad part of town, and fighting off monsters the rest of the time. Would he understand John? John sure felt like he would. John didn’t have many friends, he had no family, and he didn’t really trust anyone, but for some reason he wanted to gaze into Harry’s soul. Be damned what Harry saw in him, he wanted to see who Harry really was. His fears. His regrets. His hopes. His dreams. Everything.

 

“I wonder what you would see in me,” mumbled John, pointedly staring down at the table. There was a moment of silence and suddenly the light above their heads started to flicker. If John was a superstitious person he’d have called that a bad omen, but after tonight maybe he would be. He heard Harry sigh and as he looked up Harry stared at some point behind his head.

 

“You sure? ’Cause I can assure you, you won’t like what you see in me.” Reassured Harry.

 

“I’m sure.”

 

Harry let out another sigh, but met John’s eyes. They were both still and silent for a long minute, but as time dragged on; John started to fidget in his seat.

 

“What’s supposed to happen exactly?” Asked John, feeling uncomfortable under Harry’s intense stare.

 

“We were supposed to have seen into each other’s souls by now,” explained Harry. “I don’t understand. When I did it with all the other wizards, I was able to see right into their souls.”

 

John was beginning to think Harry had been pulling his leg all along, but then another thought occurred to him. “Maybe that means you’re not a real wizard yet. You said yourself you’re still in training. And those other people you soul gazed with were really, real wizards.”

 

Harry, having to not fear an unintentional soul gaze, met John’s eye. Obviously, even though Harry said he was sort of a wizard, liked others to refer to him as a wizard.

 

“You may be right, Johnny,” replied Harry, leaning back in his chair once more, mulling over something. Then he said his name once more, but this time with the Italian accent like John had said it when he had first introduced himself.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Oh! Nothing. I was just trying out your name.”

 

“What? Like it? Wanna keep it for yourself? Or maybe you fancy yourself an Italian?” Mocked John, but Harry just smiled, more wisely than any kid his age should, thought John. “Okay what gives?”

 

“Well for one, a name holds a lot of power. Especially in the hands of a wizard,” answered Harry. “You have no idea what I could do with your full name.” Suddenly, John felt afraid again. Like he may have underestimated the kid. “But for the most part, Johnny just doesn’t seem to suite you. Or perhaps, it sounds awkward rolling off my tongue.”

 

John relaxed again, feeling that easy comfort that came with talking to Harry. He had to admit, he didn’t much like being called Johnny, but the guys in the gang had christened him it, and he wasn’t about to piss them off.

 

“You can just call me John,” assured John as he too leaned back in his chair. “Besides, you could never pull off the Italian accent right.”

 

The two laughed and started up an easy conversation.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It was a full month before John went to see Harry again. He was kept quite busy with the gang. The boss was taking a shine to him. He liked how John was like a professional businessman and let him coast through the ranks and handle the paperwork side of everything. And John was happy because that meant more pay. He was actually able to pay this month’s rent. 

 

And while his run of good fortune was coming his way he decided to see his good friend. It was strange, he had only known Harry for a few hours, but he already considered him a good friend. His logical, rational side was telling him how stupid he was being for putting so much trust in a man he barely knew. But the other side of him was just heart-warmingly happy to have a friend. A true friend.

 

It was twenty minutes before the diner was about to close and John walked in, looking around for Harry. The man behind the counter caught his eye. “Can I help you, Son?” Asked the man, putting away the towel he was using to wipe down the counter with.

 

“Yeah,” replied John, stopping in front of the counter and meeting the man’s eyes. “I’m looking for Harry.”

 

Suddenly, the look on the man’s face turned from questioning to practically a sneer as he looked John up and down. “You a friend of his?”

 

“You could say that.”

 

_Go ahead. Sneer all you like._

 

“Figures,” the man huffed.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean!?” Angrily demanded John, bristling at the man’s words and actions.

 

“It figures Harry would have friends like you. Birds of a feather and all that.”

 

“What?”

 

“Criminals stick together, yeah? Well, the little criminal ain’t here. I fired him when I heard what he had done last week.”

 

“What are you talking about, Old Man?” John put emphasis on ‘Old Man’. The man’s sneer only grew as he picked back up the towel and began anew with scrubbing down the counter.

 

“He murdered his adoptive father, Justin Dumorne,” explained the man, never looking up to meet John’s gaze. If he had he would have seen the profound shock written all over John’s face. John couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Harry a killer? No way. Harry didn’t strike him as a person who killed people, but then again, a desperate man could do just about anything, John knew this for a fact. He was no angel himself.

 

“What happened?” He found himself asking.

 

“Oh, the little punk ran away from home, I reckon that was about the time he asked if he could work late nights here. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now it makes sense.” The man stopped scrubbing for a minute and reached under the counter, searching for something. “He’d come in late, about when I’d leave for the night. Stay, clean up and lock up, but instead of going home he’d sleep here.” The man, having found what he was looking for, brought the squirt bottle of cleaning solution up and sprayed some of it on the counter before wiping some more. “Apparently, sometime last month he went back to his father’s house and burned him to a crisp.”

 

John was numb. He couldn’t believe it. But if it were true, where was Harry now? On the streets? Locked up? Where?

 

“Do you know where he might be?” Asked John and he couldn’t keep the edge of desperation out of his voice.

 

The man stopped his cleaning and looked up, curiously, at the young man with the mop of messy, dark hair and leather jacket. “Sorry Kid,” replied the man. “I haven’t the foggiest.”

 

That was that. John left the diner, sad and confused. He had spent many months afterward looking for Harry. The police had never found him, but they were now claiming the fire had been an accident caused when Harry had fought off Justin in self-defense. Harry was cleared of all charges, but no one could find him. So, John looked on the streets. Behind every dumpster, urine stained alleyway, and in and under every crack and crevice in Chicago. But there was no sign of his once friend.

 

More than once he had found himself asking why he was even looking this hard or for this long. Or why he even cared this much about a man he only knew for a few hours. But the answer was always the same. Because Harry had risked his life to save a man he had only known for a few seconds.

 

But time moved on, as it usually does, and John slowly stopped searching and stopped wondering what had happened to Harry. Eventually, that night with Harry became a distant, faded memory in the back of his mind. Still there, yes, but rarely looked upon.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Boss!” Called Hendricks as he entered his boss’s office.

 

“Yes,” answered Marcone, looking up from the mountain of precisely stacked paperwork on his desk.

 

“The police have hired a wizard to investigate Tommy Tomm’s death,” stated Hendricks, his scowl looking to be set in stone on his face.

 

Marcone sighed. This was just what he didn’t need. He knew that Tommy Tomm’s death was somehow tied to the occult. In his younger years he had done a lot of research into those kinds of things. Now he was thankful for that.

 

Marcone pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes. A wizard working for the police and investigating Tommy Tomm’s death would mean trouble for him, especially when it came to him dishing out his own special brand of judgment.

 

“Well, there’s nothing for it,” stated Marcone, opening his eyes and rising from his desk. “We’ll just have to pay him to take a few days off. Bring the car around.”

 

Hendricks nodded and left quickly.

 

In the car, Marcone looked over the file Hendricks had given him about the wizard the Chicago PD had hired. A one Mister Harry Dresden. In the file was a torn page from the phone book and a section had been circled under “Wizard”. It read,

 

HARRY DRESDEN-WIZARD

_Lost Items Found. Paranormal Investigations._

_Consulting. Advice. Reasonable Rates._

_No Love Potions, Endless Purses, Parties, or Other Entertainment_

 

Marcone flipped through the rest of the thin file. Not much was known about this wizard, but then again, it’s not like Marcone ever went looking for wizards. In all the research he had ever done into the paranormal, there was always one enemy he considered to be the deadliest, and that was wizards. They had the skill to summon and command demons. Raise the dead. See the unseen world around the human race. Cast spells. Control a person’s mind. Just to name a few things. But what makes them the most deadly of foes is their logical, calculating mind. Their all too human mind which allows them to learn and grow and adapt to any situation.

 

Marcone sighed as he put the file away and relaxed for a minute as Hendricks drove him through town. Give him a gang of drug dealers with AK-47s any day over a minute with a wizard.

 

“Boss,” stated Hendricks, pulling Marcone out of his musings. Marcone sat up in his seat and looked out his window. There was a man jogging down the sidewalk. A very tall man, Marcone noticed, in a duster that seemed so out of place in the middle of Chicago. The man slowed to a walk, huffing and puffing as he walked along, and as Hendricks pulled up beside him Marcone notice that not only was he tall but very lanky looking.

 

_Do all wizards dress and look like this one?_

 

Hendricks coasted by him before stopping a distance in front of him and parking the car then getting out to stand beside it. Marcone could see the wizard sizing Hendricks up and then the wizard tried to turn tail and run, but the two men Marcone had following him stopped his attempts at getting away.

 

Marcone watched as the wizard and his men exchanged words. Probably something along the lines of, “get in the car or we’ll break your legs,” Marcone figured. Marcone could see that method wasn’t going to work, so he rolled down his window and interrupted Hendricks mid-threat.

 

“Mister Hendricks, please. Be more polite.” Stated Marcone, looking at Harry. “Mister Dresden, would you join me for a moment? I’d hope to give you a lift back to your office, but your abrupt exit made it somewhat problematic. Perhaps you will allow me to convey you the rest of the way.”

 

Harry leaned down to look inside the car, eying Marcone carefully. Marcone just gave Harry an easy smile. Harry concluded that Marcone was a man of handsome, unassuming features and, even dressed in a casual sports jacket and Levi’s, looked every bit the business man.

 

“And you would be?” Asked Harry, making Marcone’s smile widen.

 

“My name is John Marcone,” Marcone introduced himself. “I would like to discuss business with you.”

 

Harry stared at Marcone for a moment before letting his eyes slide to the men perched behind him, Hendricks sending out a warning growl. After a moment, Harry got into the back of the Cadillac with Marcone.

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Mister Dresden,” said Marcone, smiling. “I understand you work for the PD from time to time.”

 

“They throw the occasional tidbit my way,” replied Harry, pointedly not making eye contact with Marcone, which Marcone was grateful for. He didn’t want a soul gaze with this man. A wizard knowing all about him would be bad. “Hey, Hendricks. You should really wear your seat belt. Statistics say you’re fifty or sixty percent safer.”

 

Hendricks just growled at Harry, glaring at him in the rear-view mirror. Harry beamed at him, aggravating the already angry man even more. Marcone just stared at the side of Harry’s face as the wizard continued to give his best and biggest smile to Hendricks. Something was nagging at the back of Marcone’s mind. And it aggravated Marcone that he couldn’t put his finger on why. Was it because Harry was a wizard and Marcone had never been comfortable around wizards. Or any sort of magic in general. Magic made his skin crawl.

 

Marcone turned his attention back to the business aspect of everything and looked forward as he spoke, instead of next to him where Harry sat. “Mister Dresden, how much would it cost to retain your services?” Harry told him his standard fees and variables. Marcone listened patiently, all the while that nagging feeling growing and driving him nuts. “And how much would it cost to have you _not_ investigate something?”

 

“You want to pay me not to investigate something?” Asked Harry, scrunching up his nose and tilting his head toward John, and something in the way he had done that brought back a memory to Marcone. It was short and fleeting and was gone before Marcone had a chance to register it, so he continued.

 

“Let’s say I pay your standard fee. That comes out to fourteen hundred a day, right?”

 

“Twelve hundred, actually.”

 

Marcone beamed at him. “An honest man is a rare treasure. Twelve hundred a day. Let’s say I pay you for two weeks worth of work, Mister Dresden, and you take some time off. Go catch a few movies, get some extra sleep, that sort of thing.”

 

“And you want me to do..?”

 

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Marcone reached over next to him about to get something. “I have the money with me now. Cash.”

 

“Oh, I don’t know, John,” interrupted Harry, causing Marcone to stop his search and turn to him, eyebrow raised. Something in the way Harry had said his name made Marcone sit up and pay attention, but he wasn’t going to let Harry know that. “I’m kind of busy to be accepting any more accounts right now.”

 

Marcone felt his smile faltering from both that uneasy feeling spreading in his gut and because Harry was out right defying him. “If it’s the money, I can double it,” assured Marcone, eager to get Harry to accept his offer. This wizard made him feel uncomfortable and he didn’t know why, only that he did not want him as an enemy. To hide his nervous jitters, Marcone steepled his hands in front of him as he talked, half turning toward Harry. “How does that sound?”

 

“It’s not the money, John,” Harry said, casually, and there was that fleeting memory again, but this time it stuck around for Marcone to decipher a bit from it.

 

Marcone remembered running through the dark and a light piercing through the dark as a wave of relief washed over him. Something was chasing him. Something big and ugly with spit dripping down its chin. A goblin! Marcone remembered now. And there was something else. Someone else. A man standing in the light. His savior. Whose name was…

 

“I just don’t think it’s going to work out,” continued Harry, completely ignorant of Marcone’s revelation in the seat next to him.

 

…Harry.

 

Harry lazily looked over at Marcone and Marcone realized then that there would only be one way to find out if this was his Harry or not. To Harry’s surprise, Marcone locked eyes with him, his faded dollar bill green eyes, intense and searching.

 

Each saw each other in a different light. The soul gaze opened them both up to the other, laying all their fears, hopes, ambitions, anxieties, and whims out to the other. And then the moment Marcone was looking for, the moment of recognition as Harry, too, remembered that night.

 

“John?” Asked Harry and the feeling of uneasiness in the pit of Marcone’s stomach changed into one of relief.

 

_I’ve finally found you._

 

“It’s been awhile Harry,” Marcone smirked as he leaned back in his seat. They had reached Harry’s office, but neither made a move to leave the car.

 

“Yeah, it has,” Harry composed himself and looked Marcone over carefully. “And I see that you’ve become what every gangster punk who first puts on a leather jacket aspires to be.”

 

From anyone else, Marcone would have reached his limits and would have had Hendricks take him into a dark alley somewhere and show him who the boss was, but not Harry.

 

_No. Not Harry._

 

Marcone just smirked even more. “And I see you finally became a true wizard. Considering you could finally do a soul gaze.” Harry just snorted and shifted in his seat. And suddenly, Marcone didn’t want to let him leave. There was a nagging voice in the back of his head that said if he did he may never see him again like last time. He didn’t know why that upset him so much. “How about lunch?” Harry gave Marcone a raised eyebrow. “To talk more about business,” explained Marcone, quickly.

 

“Sorry, John,” apologized Harry as he opened the car door and swung one leg out. “I have another appointment to attend to at the moment.”

 

“Then another time perhaps?” Marcone, through years of practice, kept the desperation he was feeling out of his voice.

 

“Listen,” said Harry, stepping completely out of the car and turning back to look at Marcone. “I don’t think this business deal is going to go through. I-”

 

But Marcone cut him off before he could finish. “Then for old times sake,” he stated. “There seems to be a lot between us left unsaid.”

 

Marcone saw the nervous twitch Harry was trying to hide, but couldn’t seem to hide it all the way. “Maybe,” he finally muttered as he shut the car door. “I’m really busy right now.”

 

“Alright,” agreed Marcone with a nod of his head. “Another time then. And you can rest assured knowing I will be back to see you.”

 

Harry nodded before stepping back from the car as Marcone’s window rolled up and Hendricks drove them off. Hendricks spared a glance into the back seat at his boss, via the rear-view mirror. But the other man seemed to be in deep thought and did not notice Hendricks’ gaze.

 

“Hendricks,” called Marcone, and Hendricks gazed once again in the back seat, this time catching the older man’s gaze. “Make sure we have someone watching Mister Dresden at all times. I want to know where he goes, how often, when, and why. If he leaves Chicago I want someone on him immediately.” Hendricks had returned his gaze to the road in front of him, but firmly nodded his head as he listened to Marcone. “Also, no one is to hurt Mister Dresden. Not my men or anyone else’s. Understood?”

 

“Yes,” grunted Hendricks. “Do you really think Dresden is that serious of a threat?”

 

“What?” Asked Marcone. He had drifted off into his own thoughts again and wasn’t paying attention to Hendricks. “Oh. Well, you could say that. Yes.”

 

Hendricks didn’t like this. His boss was acting very strange and apparently the wizard and he had history together. But what kind? Hendricks would make sure to keep a hand on his pistol at all times around the wizard. No matter what his boss said.

 

“Hey Boss,” said Hendricks. “You and the Wizard have history together? At the end there you spoke to him like an old friend.”

 

Marcone smiled and relaxed in his seat. “Yes. I didn’t recognize him at first, but there’s no mistaking it now. That is the wizard who once saved me from a hungry goblin when I was a teenager.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

Harry had solved the murder of Tommy Tomm and the case of Monica’s missing husband. He got paid for a job well done by the Chicago PD, and now he was ready for a well deserved rest. But, of course, the world did not deem him fit for a rest. Instead, as he had just gotten out of the shower and was dressed in nothing but gray sweat pants and white socks, someone was knocking on his door.

 

Harry groaned, but threw the towel he was drying his hair with onto his bed as he walked out of it, through the living room, and up to the front door. Just as he reached it the person began to knock again.

 

“Hold your horses,” grumbled Harry, checking his magical wards and his physical locks before just opening his door.

 

_That’s how good wizards die young_ , thought Harry.  _Although, for me young depends on who you compare me to._

 

After deciding that everything was as good as it was going to get, Harry slowly opened his front door, the chain still connecting the door to the wall jingling as he did so. He was surprised when he was greeted by a pair of the most beautiful green eyes he had ever seen.

 

“Marcone!” Exclaimed Harry. He knew he was leaving someone out of this equation. He only hoped Marcone wouldn’t be too mad at him over what happened during Tommy Tomm’s case.

 

“Please. Call me John,” replied Marcone with a smile as Harry just stood there slack jawed. “May I come in?”

 

Come in? That seemed like a very bad idea. Letting a known crime boss into his home seemed like a very, very bad idea. But then again, making said crime boss even angrier by not letting him in seemed like an equally bad idea.

 

_Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place._

 

In the end, Harry decided to see what Marcone wanted before inviting anyone in. “What do you want, Marcone?” He asked.

 

Marcone’s smile faltered but he didn’t get mad. Harry thought that was a good sign. “You promised me lunch, remember?” Marcone stated, proudly.

 

“What I remember saying was maybe later,” corrected Harry. “I made no promises. And besides, it’s well past lunch time.”

 

“Yes,” agreed Marcone. “We are both very busy people and usually work through lunch. So, I thought it more prudent that we have dinner together instead.”

 

Harry leaned against his door frame as he let out a long sigh and looked down at Marcone, for he was a few inches taller than the other man. “I don’t know John,” Harry said as he flicked his wrist back and forth in a very flamboyant manner and spoke with an exasperated tone. “I’m tired. I have nothing to wear. I wasn’t prepared for this. You have to give me, at least, an hour to get ready.”

 

Harry watched as Marcone’s eyes grew wide and it made Harry smirk on the inside. So he decided to step it up a notch; freak Marcone out a little more. Harry cocked his hip sharply and instead of leaning on his shoulder like he had been, he leaned on his hip against the door-frame. He pursed his lips, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and looked like a stereotypical angry girlfriend waiting for an explanation from her obnoxious boyfriend.

 

“I-I’m sorry,” stuttered Marcone, suddenly looking down at his feet. “I didn’t know.”

 

_You were gay_ , Harry’s brain supplied the rest of Marcone’s sentence. Harry rolled his eyes.  _Oh brother, a big homophobe. I’m not gay, but I’m not prejudice either. Although, maybe this will get Marcone off of my back._

 

“I’m sorry,” Marcone apologized again, but this time with more conviction, before he lifted his eyes from the floor to stare back into Harry’s dark brown ones. “I should have called a head of time.”

 

_What?_ Harry was shocked. Did Marcone still want to go to dinner with him?

 

“But that’s okay,” continued Marcone, ignoring the shocked look on Harry’s face. “We can dine in tonight. My place. I’ll wait in my car while you get ready.” Marcone pointed to the dark blue caddy parked on the curve and Harry couldn’t help poking his head out slightly through the crack in his door and looking at it, trying to decide if Marcone had brought Cujo with him or not.

 

Seeming to have read Harry’s mind, Marcone assured him that it would be just he and Harry tonight. Harry could already see that Marcone wasn’t going to take no for an answer, and one way or another Marcone was going to get Harry alone with him by the end of the night.

 

“Besides,” continued Marcone, giving Harry a very sharp look, eyes glowing in the fading light of the sun. “I think you have the answers to a few of my questions.”

 

Harry felt a chill run down his spine when Marcone looked at him like that, and he briefly wondered if that was the look many people had seen while they took their last breaths. He could see how Marcone could easily command the respect of businessmen and drug lords a like.

 

“Fine,” mumbled Harry, angrily. He didn’t like to be forced into things, but he liked not being able to walk even less. “Just give me a bit to get dressed.”

 

Marcone beamed at his words. “Of course. I’ll be in the car when you’re ready.”

 

Harry closed the front door and let out another long sigh. What had he gotten himself into? Maybe he should have just taken Marcone up on his offer when they had first met, before they had done the soul gaze and remembered each other. He didn’t know what to do. Perhaps he should make Marcone wait in his car for a few hours before coming out. Or, maybe if he got lucky, Marcone would leave on his own. But then again, that would probably only upset him and then Harry would be in even more trouble.

 

Sighing again, Harry walked back into his bedroom and rifled through his closet, while wrestling with himself over how long he should make the mob boss wait for him. He decided forty-five minutes was good. Besides, didn’t he tell Marcone that he needed at least an hour to get ready? Harry snickered at his own little joke he had pulled on Marcone. But something told him that he would probably pay for that later.

 

Deciding not to get too dressed up for the Mafioso, Harry put on a nice pair of jeans and a less-wrinkly-than-the-rest button up shirt. A navy blue, plaid one. Figuring he didn’t know what he was getting himself into, Harry slipped on some shield bracelets and a fire ring. On his way out the door, he put on his duster and carefully placed a shorter version of his blasting rod into it.

 

_Your basic magical instruments,_ Harry thought, happily, to himself, feeling comfort from all the magical stuff that were on him.  _You should never leave home without them._

 

Harry double checked his wards and his locks as he left his apartment, forty-five minutes later, and to his surprise, and agitation, Marcone didn’t seem the least bit upset over the wait. He happily greeted Harry and they drove off to Marcone’s penthouse suite uptown.

 

“I want you to know,” started Harry in the passenger’s seat, squirming uncomfortably, “that I don’t normally do this sorta thing.”

 

“And what sort of thing would that be?” Asked Marcone glancing over to Harry for a second before returning his attention to the road as he drove.

 

“Get into cars with just anyone and go places with them.”

 

“Well that’s good. I’d hate to have to worry about someone offering you candy and a ride and then never seeing you again.”

 

Harry grumbled, indignantly, as he crossed his arms in front of his chest and slouched in his seat, what little he could, he was just too tall for such things.

 

The rest of the ride to Marcone’s penthouse was spent in silence. But when they arrived at their destination, Harry had to look up at the building in shock and awe. Sure he had passed the enormous building before, with its gleaming windows making the whole building look like it was made from glass, and its rooftop that looked to reach for the sky. But never had he known what it was for or that Marcone lived there.

 

“You sure we’re at the right place?” Asked Harry as he got out of the car with Marcone. “This place looks more like the headquarters for some big business corporation.”

 

“You’re half right,” stated Marcone, walking over to stand next to Harry and look up at the building. “That is what the lower half is for, but the top floors are my personal penthouse suites. I own the whole building.” Harry really shouldn’t have been that shocked by the revelation. In fact, he should have figured that out the moment they pulled up to the building. “Come on then. Let’s go inside.” Marcone stepped forward, obviously expecting Harry to follow, which he did, but not without a lot of grumbling and feet dragging along the way.

 

Marcone chuckled when he opened the door to Harry and Harry looked indignant over it. “I could have gotten that myself, you know,” claimed Harry as he walked through the doors, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his duster.

 

“I know.” Was all Marcone said as he led Harry into the lobby, waved to the pretty receptionist, and then showed him to the private elevator that led them up to his suites.

 

The elevator doors dinged open and the duo walked down an empty hallway to a large door. Instantly, Harry felt the pull of magic. He stopped dead in his tracks as Marcone walked up to the door and put his key into the lock, having not noticed that Harry had stopped halfway back.

 

The magic Harry felt wasn’t strong or easily detectable, but to someone with trained senses like his, he picked up on them. Harry stretched out his senses and felt around for the source of magic. His senses brushed across the tendrils of magic that wove their way around Marcone’s suite.

 

“Harry?” Questioned Marcone, gingerly, and Harry was shocked to hear Marcone’s voice in such an unsure and worried state.

 

He pulled in his senses and opened his eyes, but was still very cautious. “Why did you bring me here?” Harry didn’t like being played for a fool. He started to gather energy into his shield bracelets, ready for whatever was behind Marcone’s door.

 

Marcone’s brow scrunched up in confusion. “For dinner, of course,” he answered, and Harry wondered if that meant that he literally wanted to eat Harry or if he was just lying.

 

“Don’t think I’m a fool,” hissed Harry, taking one step back and taking up a strong, defensive stance. “I can feel the magic that is weaved around your suite.”

 

At first, Marcone looked confused, then shocked. “I’m impressed,” he said, opening his door causing Harry to pull up his shield, but when nothing jumped out at him, he let it down a bit. He needed to conserve his energy. “The sorcerer who put them up said they would be practically undetectable. I guess he was wrong?”

 

“He wasn’t,” assured Harry. “I’m just trained in detecting even the slightest bits of magic.”

 

Marcone made a motion for Harry to enter the suite, but when he made no move forward Marcone offered to have the wards removed. “If it would make you feel better,” said Marcone. “I can take the wards down for the night. I have them up for anyone with magical abilities who wish to do me harm.” Harry eyed him warily. “You should know how easy it is for me to make enemies with magical creatures.” Marcone smiled and Harry understood where he was coming from. Didn’t he, himself, have his home warded up tighter than a bank vault?

 

Marcone moved and took down the wards. It had been a long time since Harry had ever seen wards like those before. They were fitted for use by vanilla mortals with no magical abilities whatsoever. All Marcone had to do was break the line of brick dust that lay before the front door and move a wooden rod with runes written on them away from the door. Later, when he wanted the wards back up all he would have to do was replace the line of brick dust with new dust and place the rod back in its original place. Simple, yet effective.

 

Marcone entered the suite and waited for Harry inside as Harry stood outside, both searching for more magic and waiting to be welcomed in.

 

_It’s bad juju to enter someone’s house uninvited._

 

When Marcone gave him a look that said, “What now?” Harry explained. “I have to be invited in,” he said with a shrug. “It’s a wizard thing.”

 

Marcone nodded and invited Harry, the wizard, inside his home. The first thing Harry noticed was the smell of food. Steak and vegetables to be exact. “The dining area is this way,” stated Marcone as he took Harry gently by the arm and carefully pulled the other man with him. “You like your steak well done, right?”

 

“Yeah,” answered Harry as he allowed the mob boss to gently guide him to the dinning room. “How did you know that?”

 

“Let’s suffice to say that I pay attention to you, Harry.”

 

“You mean you stalk me, right?”

 

Harry wasn’t too surprised by this fact. He had an inkling that Marcone had some guys follow him. His statement just verified everything. He watched as Marcone led them through a lavish living area and into a posh dining room. Harry idly mused that he could probably fit his whole place and office into that dining room alone, and still have space left over.

 

“Please, have a seat.” Marcone motioned to a small table set near a very large and elegant window that overlooked the city. “I’ll get our dinner.”

 

Harry did as he was asked and took a seat at the table, looking around cautiously. Something wasn’t right. Something just felt off. Like the living room, the dining room was huge and decorated with elegant paintings and knick-knacks that probably cost more than Harry’s yearly income. He remembered the look of the living room with its dark brown leather couches, mahogany coffee table, big screen TV with full entertainment system, book shelves bulging with books that covered practically every wall, and plush white carpet. Then he looked back at the dining room. Beautiful, marble colored tile floor, huge glass windows on one side that opened the room up, strangely painted pictures on the walls, and then a mahogany, four person, dining table.

 

It hit him what was off. The dining table didn’t seem to fit into the picture quite well. So far the whole statement of the suite was big and fancy. Nothing about this table said either of those things to Harry. Not to mention, how much room was still left in the dining area because of the small table.

 

Harry looked down at the floor and, just as he thought, he saw faint scratches and scuff marks on the tiles. He concluded that at one time there had been a larger table there.

 

_Probably something that could feed an army of men returning from pillaging some helpless village._ Harry thought, snidely. He could just see Marcone now, sitting at the head of a very long table, dressed in the finest silks and linen with a horde of barbaric men seated around him who were fighting over slabs of dead animals that were lying out on the table.

 

Harry heard footsteps and turned to see Marcone walking back into the room with a plate of steak and vegetables in each hand and a puzzled, slightly amused look on his face. “Don’t you ever take that coat off?” Asked Marcone. “Or is it another wizard thing.”

 

“I’ll have you know this is a duster,” stated Harry, sticking his nose up in the air very dramatically. “And it beats the hell out of wizards’ robes.”

 

Marcone just continued to stare at him as he stood in front of the table with both hands full with the steaming plates of food. “So, you really do have to wear that at all times?”

 

Harry rolled his eyes as he stood up and slipped off his duster. “I don’t HAVE to wear it,” he explained. “But it does offer some protection for me in a fight.”

 

“Are you expecting me to jump you at any moment, Harry?” Asked Marcone as he leaned over the table to place down the plates, turning his head to look up at Harry, who had paused in his motion of draping his duster over the back of his chair as he caught Marcone’s eye. And damn if he wasn’t smirking suggestively with a twinkle in his dark green eyes.

 

_Were they always that dark?_

 

Harry felt captivated by that predatory gaze, and suddenly felt the instinct to reach into his duster and pull out his mini blasting rod and make a new door to Marcone’s suite.

 

_Calm down Harry!_ He thought to himself as he laid his duster down and Marcone moved away from him.  _You’re over-reacting._

 

_No you’re not!_ Screamed another voice in Harry’s head.  _He’s either trying to kill you or get into your pants- I knew playing gay with Marcone was risky. Either way there is only one proper response. Get the f*ck outta here!_

 

Harry steadied his nerves, rubbing his thumb across his ring as he sat back down at the table. For the first few minutes Harry and Marcone made small talk. Which seemed to be difficult for the both of them, seeing as how both men were cut to the chase kind of guys.

 

With his steak half way finished, Harry decided to ask what was on both their minds. “Listen, Marcone, I-”

 

“John,” interrupted Marcone, abruptly.

 

“John,” Harry continued, deciding to humor the man. He was paying for dinner.

 

_Oh, you’ll pay for this,_ that annoying voice in the back of Harry’s mind said.  _Maybe not with money, but you’ll be paying for this later._

 

Harry had a feeling his inner voice was right. “Listen; let’s stop pretending to be old friends. We met only once and that was, what? Over two decades ago? And obviously, a lot has changed since then.”

 

Marcone agreed as he nodded his head. “Alright. What happened to you? I heard about Justin, but where did you go for so long?”

 

Harry sighed as he leaned back in his chair. He went into detail about how the unseen, magical world around them was governed by a set of rules just like this world. Harry continued to tell him how the Council had put him under the Doom of Damocles and what that all meant and where he had been, careful to leave out the more gruesome aspects of his life. All the while, Marcone had sat there, quietly, listening and taking in everything Harry was telling him. And when Harry was done, it was time for Marcone to speak.

 

“Seems you had a very difficult childhood,” said Marcone, and whether or not he was being sarcastic or sympathetic, Harry couldn’t tell, and didn’t care.

 

“Haven’t we both?” Grunted Harry, turning his attention out the window. “If I’m understanding everything I’ve seen between our soul gaze, you’ve got yourself around.”

 

Harry looked back at Marcone as the mortal curved up one corner of his lips. “You could say that.”

 

Harry huffed and crossed his arms, lazily, across his chest. “So when did you decide that being the criminal kingpin of Chicago was what you wanted to be when you grew up?”

 

Marcone could tell Harry didn’t approve of what he did, but was trying to be civil about everything. So Marcone smiled and finished his steamed carrots and broccoli. “It’s not exactly the ideal job, I’ll agree. You gotta do some bad things some times.” Harry snorted, but Marcone pretended as if he hadn’t heard him. “But in the long run, it’s for the greater good of everyone.” Marcone placed a carrot into his mouth and carefully chewed. “Things could be a lot worse. You don’t have to agree with me. Just know that everyone in this city is under my protection.” Harry was quiet, and neither man met the other’s eyes. Harry stared out the window and Marcone stared down at his plate as he spoke.

 

“You’re wrong,” said Harry, softly, startling Marcone. Marcone looked up from his plate and was greeted by Harry’s soft, yet sad gaze. “I do agree with you. Things could be a lot worse.” Harry returned his gaze back to the window and Marcone just continued to stare at his profile. “And I understand doing something bad when you know that later it would be for the greater good. But that doesn’t make it any less unpleasant, or right.”

 

Marcone couldn’t look away from the side of Harry’s face. In the glow of the city lights coming through the window, Harry seemed to have a supernatural, blue glow around him and his eyes sparkled brightly, his brown eyes turning so dark they could almost be mistaken for black, but with a white glitter in them that seemed to cast out all evil.

 

And darn Marcone even think it, but Harry looked beautiful. Harry sighed and turned back to look at Marcone. “Thanks for dinner but I think it’s time I get going,” said Harry as he stood, Marcone quickly copying his action.

 

“Of course, I’ll get my coat and drive you back,” said Marcone, quickly.

 

“No, that’s okay,” replied Harry as he placed on his duster. “I think I’ll walk.”

 

“But you live half way across the city,” protested Marcone, that feeling of loss and longing coiling tight in the pit of his stomach again.

 

“I’ll be fine. Besides, it’s a nice night for a walk.”

 

Marcone’s jaw clenched tight. He wanted to protest, but knew he had to let Harry go. “At least let me call you a cab or something. It’s dangerous out there.”

 

Harry checked his duster and pushed in his seat. Maybe he could do that. “Alright,” he agreed.

 

“Good.” Marcone walked off, presumably into the kitchen to call a cab and in the next minute he had returned. “The cab will be here in a minute. I’ll walk you down.”

 

Harry wanted to refuse him. To tell him he was a big boy and was able to find his own way out, but thought better of it and just let Marcone lead him out of the suite.

 

They entered the lobby together and the young, blonde receptionist gave them only a passing glance; working late it seemed. “I had a pleasant evening,” informed Marcone as the duo stood in front of the glass doors that led out to the street.

 

“Thanks for the meal,” Harry stated and watched as his cab pulled up. “But I don’t think we should socialize anymore.” Marcone’s heart fell to his stomach, though he wasn’t sure why. “It’ll just be bad for business. You socializing with a wizard and me with a known mob boss. You’ll look like your dabbling in the occult, which will only garner you more magical enemies. And I’ll loose business if people fear me because they think I’m in the pocket of a kingpin. You understand, right?”

 

Marcone nodded. He did, indeed, understand and actually agreed with Harry. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop his feelings of regret and deep sadness at hearing that Harry didn’t want to be around him. But he could never blame Harry. “I understand,” replied Marcone.

 

With that the two said their goodbyes and Harry went home. Marcone knew that Harry wouldn’t be too happy once he got home and learned that Marcone had already paid the cab driver. At least the thought of a furious and indignant Harry brought a smile to his face as Marcone walked back to his suites.

 

The man was such an anomaly to Marcone. He just couldn’t wrap his head around Harry. He was a wizard. A practitioner. A PI. A humble man. An arrogant man. A selfless man. A human. He was all these things and more. Maybe even a kindred soul to Marcone.

 

Marcone locked the door behind him as he took down a jar of brick dust and made a new line across the floor.

 

But there was another thing about Harry that he just couldn’t gauge. Was he gay? Nothing in his file ever pointed to Harry liking guys. Nor did he give off those vibes. But when he went to pick him up he sure enough acted like he was gay. At first Marcone had been surprised, but then he guessed that Harry was probably just messing with him, but as the night drew on he began to believe that Harry truly was gay. Though not pronounced, there was a subtle undercurrent of something under their whole evening. It made his nerves tingle with something he had never quite felt before.

 

Marcone moved the rod covered in runes back into place a foot away from the door and stepped back to inspect his work.

 

Well, if he wasn’t gay, then he was definitely bisexual, Marcone decided as he moved back to his bedroom. He needed a shower, to make a few phone calls, and then it would be off to bed for him. He had a long day tomorrow.

 


	6. Chapter 6

That night Marcone dreamed of soft, tanned skin, dark eyes that glittered in the night, and long, lean legs.

 

He was back at Harry’s place, knocking on the front door again. And then there was Harry, shirtless and dripping wet, leaning against his door-frame, dark eyes beckoning Marcone to come inside. And were those sweat pants always that low on his hips?

 

Harry flicked his wrist and the next thing he knew he was inside Harry’s bedroom. A soft, orange glow enveloped the whole room from one lamp placed next to the bed. Harry sat down on the edge of his bed, smirking up at Marcone, and suddenly, Marcone felt his legs go numb.

 

Harry caught him before he did a face-plant into the floor and he gently pulled him onto the bed. He laid Marcone out on his bed before climbing slowly on top of him, straddling his hips. Marcone was dumbstruck. When had Harry been this seductive? Or graceful, for that matter.

 

“Come now, Mister Marcone, have nothing to say?” Asked Harry with a sharp smirk on his face. Marcone found that he couldn’t move even if he wanted to and briefly wondered if Harry had cast a spell on him or something. That thought both scared and excited him.

 

Harry leaned down and gave Marcone a feather light kiss on the lips, causing Marcone’s whole body to come alight. And Harry let out a soft groan as he pulled away from Marcone, eyes clouded with lust and pleasure, causing a spike of arousal to shoot through Marcone’s body like lightening.

 

“Do you want me, Johnny?” Teased Harry, sitting back gently on Marcone and slowly rubbing his @ss against Marcone’ growing erection.

 

Marcone let out a gruff groan of pleasure as he reached up and gripped Harry’s hips, finally able to move and speak. “Yes.” Marcone answered.

 

Harry leaned back down, placed his lips against Marcone’s earlobe, giving it a soft kiss as he whispered, “Then take me.”

 

Marcone flipped them in the next second and Harry laughed as his back hit the mattress. “I didn’t know how much I missed you, till I saw you again.”

 

Harry hummed softly, thoughtfully, as he reached up and lightly brushed his fingertips across Marcone’s graying temples. Marcone watched him carefully, taking in every move of his muscles and twist of his hand. And he was beginning to feel like he always did when he was around Harry. He never wanted this moment to end.

 

Marcone was about to lean down and kiss Harry again, when a loud ringing sound pierced through the peace that surrounded them. And the noise kept ringing and ringing until his world began to spin and dissolve around him.

 

He opened his eyes with a groan, sunlight peeked under his curtains and he found himself in his bed at one of his suites. Marcone rolled over in his bed, reached across his nightstand, and slapped his annoying alarm clock off. He groaned again as the last visages of his dream still ran through his mind.

 

Marcone decided to lay in his bed a moment or two longer, but he didn’t seem to have that luxury today as in the next moment his cell phone rang. He reached back over to his nightstand and picked his cell up. His caller ID said ‘Hendricks’. He greeted his body guard with a gruff hello and proceeded to tell him that he was going to be a little late into work today.

 

Once the conversation was over, Marcone flopped back down onto his bed and tried to wish the world away, and his hormones back into submission.

 

“What’s wrong with me,” whispered Marcone to his ceiling as he ran a hand down his face, feeling the early morning stubble that was there. He hadn’t been this _worked up_ by a dream in a long time. And never had it been over a guy before. He thought he should feel sick and disgusted with himself, but he didn’t. In fact, he felt just the opposite. And, Man, did he ever find it ironic. The man who has everything money could buy, wanting the one thing he can’t have.

 

Marcone decided he had spent enough time lounging about in bed. Crime never slept, even when the crime boss did.

 

_Better start getting ready before Hendricks freaks out and charges my door._ Thought Marcone as he swung his legs over the side of his bed.  _But first, a cold shower._

 


	7. Chapter 7

Marcone spent a great deal of time trying to keep his hands and mind busy. He would work from the crack of dawn to well past dark. He worked himself into complete exhaustion, hoping to be so tired that even his mind refused to muster up the energy to have dreams. But most of the time he was unsuccessful. And always his dreams were of him and Harry, and a lot less clothes than normal.

 

Weeks went by and the sexual frustration he began to feel over not having a release began to physically wear him down. And the worst part was that the people around him began to notice.

 

“Boss,” said Hendricks as he drove Marcone to one of his apartments downtown. He usually changed apartments every week or two. That made it hard for people with a bone to pick with him to find him.

 

“Yeah,” answered Marcone, tiredly, staring out the window as the world passed them by.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Fine.”

 

“You seem tired.”

 

“Just a little. Haven’t been getting enough sleep lately.”

 

They were quiet for a moment. The lights of the city glowed as the sun began to set. Tall grey buildings stood in front of an orange and pink backdrop. It all looked so peaceful like this. Busy, yes, but peaceful in a sense that you couldn’t believe that almost every second someone was trying to kill someone else.

 

Marcone let out a heavy and tired sigh which prompted Hendricks to continue. “I’m worried about you, Boss. You don’t look well.”

 

“Don’t I?” Asked Marcone, softy, turning to look at Hendricks through the rearview mirror.

 

“Maybe you should take some time off. Catch up on some sleep. I can handle things while you’re gone and when you come back I’ll have everything ready for you.”

 

“I don’t know,” mumbled Marcone, shaking his head and turning to look back out the window. “There’s just so much that needs to be done.”

 

“I know,” Hendricks focused on the road, keeping his speech light and uninterested. He had something to tell Marcone, but was unsure how to bring it up all day. “I heard of this place, though. Quaint. That’s how the website described it. Far off into the country side. Away from the hustle and bustle of the city. They don’t rely on electronics. In fact, they haven’t got one cell phone or computer in the whole town.”

 

“And you think this’ll be good for me?”

 

“Maybe,” Hendricks shrugged. “I think the town’s called Indian Run. The pictures on the computer made it look nice.”

 

“Yeah,” Marcone replied as they pulled up to his apartment building. “But as I said earlier, there’s just too much work for me to tend to here to just leave suddenly.”

 

Hendricks nodded as he searched for a parking place. “That reminds me. That wizard Dresden. He’s leaving town tomorrow.”

 

Hendricks watched through the rear-view mirror as Marcone’s head whipped around, quickly, and he asked him, “What?” He thought that’d get his boss’s attention.

 

“Yeah. He got a case that leads him outta town,” Hendricks answered, casually, as he found a parking spot and pulled into it. “Apparently, his client is an old friend and he’s going to stay with him for awhile.”

 

Hendricks watched through the mirror as Marcone’s eyes got dark and his lips pulled into a thin line. “What do we know about this man?”

 

Hendricks was no fool. He knew something was going on between his boss and that wizard. The way Marcone always kept a watchful eye over him, that late night dinner, and how ever since then Marcone had been acting strangely, all said as much.

 

“Well, not much,” Hendricks stated. “Just that he and Harry occasionally spend a lot of time together. Doing wizardly stuff, I’m sure.”

 

“What’s his name?” Marcone couldn’t help the heavy feeling in his stomach or the anxious tingling in the tips of his fingers. Was it jealously he was feeling?

 

“Nathaniel Davids. As far as I can tell he ain’t a wizard or the likes. Just a close friend of Dresden’s.”

 

Marcone nodded as Hendricks got out of the car and he followed shortly after. “Do we know how long Mister Dresden is staying with his friend?”

 

Hendricks and Marcone walked, casually up to his apartment building. “He looks to have packed enough clothes for a week, but he got a sitter for his cat for a few weeks, so he could stay longer.”

 

Marcone looked far away and distant, even only being a few feet away from Hendricks, but he knew that his boss was just in deep thought. They entered the building and disappeared down a hall which led them to a single large door at the end of it. Marcone was quiet still as he searched in his pockets for his key.

 

“What do you want to do Boss?” Asked Hendricks, finally. “I can have a team ready to follow him by tonight.”

 

Marcone hummed deep in his throat, finding his key and placing it in his lock. He didn’t like the idea of Harry leaving town. The last time he did, he was gone for a long, long time. And now that Marcone understood what the wizard meant to him, he didn’t think he could ever let him go like that again. But what could he do? He would never force Harry to do anything he didn’t want him to, but…

 

Marcone sighed as his door clicked open. “Yeah, you do that,” he mumbled, tiredly, sadly too.

 

_But I just want to be close to him._

 

“I can do that,” stated Hendricks. “But I think you should know where he’s going to first.”

 

Marcone was halfway in the door before he turned to look at Hendricks. “And where would that be?”

 

“Indian Run.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

Marcone lay, restless, in his bed that night. Tossing and turning with every thought. Hendricks was sometimes too smart for his own good. But that had been why he had hired him, wasn’t it? When Hendricks had said Indian Run with that all knowing look in his eyes, he knew there was no denying it now.

 

Marcone rolled unto his side and looked at his clock. It read 2:41 am. _Screw it,_ he thought. _I guess it’s time for a vacation._

 

He reached over and plucked his phone off of the nightstand, hitting the number two as he did so. It rang exactly three times before Hendricks picked up, sounding half asleep.

 

“Yeah Boss,” grumbled Hendricks.

 

“Cancel the team that’s following Dresden tomorrow. They won’t be needed after all. I’m going on a short vacation,” stated Marcone.

 

“Okay.” This time Hendricks sounded much more awake.

 

“I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I leave everything in your care while I’m gone. And get me tickets to that train to Indian Run.”

 

“Of course. Dresden leaves at one, should I get you a ticket for that time?”

 

“No, earlier. I want to get there and get settled before he arrives. Have some cash ready for me and the usual stuff,” Marcone went on to explain, getting out of bed and making his way to his closet. “Also, be sure to pay off the security at the train station so I can get my _luggage_ through.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Good. Call me back with the details.”

 

“Right away.”

 

Marcone closed his phone with a soft click, staring down at the black duffel bag at the bottom of his closet. He picked it up and threw it onto his bed before walking over to a dresser at the other side of his bedroom. He pulled open a drawer and found what he was looking for. A 9 millimeter pistol with extra magazines. He unzipped his bag and slid it in with his extra clothes and Kevlar vest. You could never be too careful when going on a trip. That’s why he always kept a duffel bag full of his necessities in his apartments. He searched through the bag for a minute making sure he had everything he last put in there.

 

_Extra vest. Yes. Extra magazines. Yes. Socks. Yes. And some extra cash. Yes. Good._

 

Satisfied, he moved back to his closet and pulled out some hiking boots and sneakers. He stuffed the sneakers into his bag with his clothes before zipping it back up and placing it next to his bed.

 

He sat back down on his bed, looking around his bedroom as he did so. It always amazed him. He had fifteen different apartments all across Chicago alone and none of them felt comfortable to him. Sure they had his stuff in each of them, but nothing personal or sentimental. It was dangerous for a man in his business to have stuff like that just lying around.

 

He turned and looked down at his bed. It was  _his bed_ , but it always felt like it wasn’t. He slept on a different bed every night. It was more like a hotel bed to him than anything he’d call his. He shook his head and lay back down on his bed. Why was he getting all sentimental all of the sudden? For the past fifteen years that he’d been living like this and it had never bothered him before. Why tonight all of the sudden?

 

Marcone rolled onto his side and looked out his window. He never left his curtains open, even when on the thirtieth floor, but there was a small crack in them that let him peek out into the world outside. Bright, colorful lights and flashing horns. That was the world he lived in. A world that constantly changed and evolved and if one didn’t keep up, they died. Never the same bed. Never the same suite. Never the same bedmate.

 

The moon was full tonight, Marcone noted. He wondered if werewolves were running amok on the streets below, and then briefly wondered if the creak he heard just a moment ago was one of them coming to eat his heart out. His paranoia knew no ends, apparently.

 

In the next moment his phone rang. He reached over and answered it. “Hello,” he greeted.

 

“You leave at ten. I’ll be by to pick you up at nine.” It was Hendricks’s voice on the other end.

 

“Good.”

 

“Will that be all?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then goodnight, Sir.”

 

“Goodnight, Hendricks.”

 

Marcone went back to his musings as he looked about his room once more.  _Why all these strange feeling all of the sudden?_

 

Deciding he wasn’t going to get any sleep, he flicked on his TV, in hopes that it would numb his overactive mind and his emotions. When the colors on the screen became clearer he noticed that he was watching some late night movie about a man and woman in love.

 

_Isn’t that what they’re always about?_

 

He watched, too tired to flip through the other channels, as the man kissed the woman and told her how much he loved her. How he couldn’t spend another minute without her. How he had missed her when she had left him for another man. Marcone rolled his eyes. Movies like this were always so quixotic. They over romanticized the romances and down played the real problems of the world. And they always cut the movie off before things got really tough. Because they knew there was no such thing as happily ever after.

 

However, there was a scene that made something stir in Marcone. It was early morning in the couples lake view home. The sun was just starting to creep over the horizon, basking them in a warm, orange glow. The windows to their bedroom were open and the song of birds could be heard through it. And there on the bed, under pillows and blankets, lay nestled close to one another was the man and woman. Fast asleep and in the comforting embrace of the one they loved.

 

Was this it? Was this the thing he was longing for? Was this why all these feeling were suddenly making their presence known to him?

 

He watched the end credits roll and laid back in bed. Was it because of Harry? He groaned and turned off the TV. Of course it was because of Harry. It was always about Harry, wasn’t it? Yes it was.

 

Marcone turned and looked at his clock once again. It read 3:34 am now. He closed his eyes and let his mind settle. He only had a few hours before he had to get up and get ready.

 

Sleep eventually did come, bringing with it dreams of a pleasurable kind. But different, and yet the same, as the others. Harry was there and so was he, as well as a warm bed and the sound of the ocean in the background, lulling him and Harry into a peaceful slumber as he wrapped an arm around Harry, and the younger man let out a pleasurable sigh.

 

Yes, this was what he was longing for. The comfort that came with being close to the one you loved. You didn’t have to do anything at all, just lie close to them and feel completely at peace with the world. Like nothing in the world could hurt you.

 


	9. Chapter 9

The ride from Chicago to Indian Run was a few hours and by the time Marcone had arrived his left leg had fallen asleep and he was in dire need to get off that train. As he walked onto the platform he could have sworn he had just stepped back in time. Indian Run was everything Hendricks said it would be. Out in the middle of the country with no electronics anywhere. Marcone briefly wondered about their restrooms, but quickly pushed that thought aside. Instead, he went in search of the bed and breakfast he was to stay at.

 

The B and B was called Pilgrim’s Passage, a quaint little log cabin that could house fourteen guests if needed, but was currently only holding six, that was including Marcone.

 

“We don’t usually get a lot of guests this time of year,” explained the elderly lady as she led Marcone up the stairs and to his room. “But when hunting season kicks in we are practically bursting at the seams with people.”

 

“You don’t say?” Said Marcone, making polite conversation as the owner took off the key to his room from her key ring.

 

“Here we are,” she stated proudly as they stopped in front of a door and she handed Marcone his key. “Breakfast is at nine, outhouse is around back, and so are the washrooms.”

 

Marcone nodded as he thanked the lady for the key, and went into his room. It was small. In fact, he hadn’t stayed in a room this small since he was a teenager living on the streets. But that mattered little to him. He threw his bag in the closet and decided to have a look around and stretch his legs.

 

The whole place seemed very cozy to him. It was so picturesque, like something you’d stick on a Christmas greeting card. Neat, little rows of shops and houses lined five streets, selling things from food to knickknacks. The population on Indian Run was 798 and had only one restaurant and one general store.

 

Marcone took in a deep breath, enjoying the taste of clean air in the back of his throat as he walked down the streets. It had taken him almost three hours to convince Hendricks to let him go alone, two on the phone and one in person. But here he was in jeans and hiking boots walking down the streets of Indian Run. Everyone who caught his eye waved happily at him in passing and in return he waved back at them.

 

He looked around and for the first time in a long time felt at ease. He didn’t feel like he had to keep up a façade of cool, calculating businessman. He could freely walk around town and no one would know who he was. Of course, he’d have to watch his back, but probably not have to wear that extra Kevlar vest he brought along. Maybe.

 

He stepped briskly to the outskirt of the town standing in a grassy field looking over the whole town. He could see why hunters would flock here during the hunting seasons. The place was perfectly situated between miles and miles of thick woods and grassy meadows. And there on a hill, way on the other side of town was a cute little schoolhouse. Now Marcone was sure he had stepped back in time. There was no way they still had schoolhouses that looked like that.

 

He shook his head and smiled, turning his head just in time to see a train come bustling into the station, just seconds before the whistle started to blow. He looked down at his wristwatch, the time read 4:15 pm. Had he spent several hours walking around town already? Where did the time go?

 

He rushed back down to the station, making good time as he saw the lanky figure of Harry Dresden in his trademark duster step off of the train and start walking in the other direction. Marcone acted casual as he followed Harry, making sure to blend in with the crowd and keep a good distance away from him.

 

Following him through town was quite difficult. Since the streets were not overly crowded, Marcone had to keep farther back than he would have liked and was constantly ducking behind things. He also noticed that, unlike how they had treated him, some of the town’s people weren’t very happy to see Harry.

 

_Blow someone else’s house up, Harry?_

 

Some waved fondly at him, others greeted him happily, some took their children inside and watched through blinds as Harry passed by, and others out right scowled at him. But no matter how they treated him, Harry always greeted them with a smile, some genuine and some forced, Marcone noticed. He was growing more curious with every house that Harry passed. Where was the wizard going exactly?

 

Marcone could only follow Harry to the outskirt of town till nothing but an empty field would be between him and Harry. He knew that if he followed Harry out of town that the other man would spot him for sure. So, instead, he ducked behind a building and watched Harry make his way toward the old school house that was just on the other side of the field.

 

_Where are you going?_

 

Soon Harry reached the school house, bypassing it and going farther out, disappearing behind a grassy knoll. It was looking like Marcone would just have to wait for night fall to see where he had gone.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Night fall couldn’t come fast enough. Marcone had camped outside behind some shrubbery all evening. Now, the world around him was lit up by a bright moon and the pitch black sky was sprinkled with shining, white stars. It was a sight he hadn’t seen that clearly in a long, long time.

 

Walking briskly, he dashed from his hiding spot to a nearby tree, being swallowed up by its shadow and disappearing into the night. He looked all around and listened. Not a soul was stirring, except for a few field crickets. The coast looked clear so Marcone decided to sneak up the hill and over to where he saw Harry disappear.

 

He crouched down low, trying his best to blend into the waving shadows of the tall grass. He took sure and steady steps up the hill, watching for movement around him, but also keeping his eyes locked straight ahead of him. When he had almost reached the top, he crouched down even lower and peeked over the hill. There wasn’t a soul in sight, but a small farm down the way. Could that have been where Harry had gone?

 

Marcone felt more confident and he crept more over the hill, looking all around. There were about two more farm houses around the closest one up front that Harry could have went to, so he was unsure which one exactly the wizard was in.

 

_Oh well, I guess I’ll just have to wait and see which house he goes to tomorrow._

 

Marcone made his way back down the hill, this time at a leisurely pace. There was no one out that he could see and if someone did see him and question him, he could simply say he was out for a walk to enjoy the lovely night sky; not completely a lie.

 

He had made it about half way down the hill before a feeling washed over him. He knew this feeling well. It was a feeling of fear with a shot of adrenaline. The feeling of realization the moment you realized you weren’t alone. That someone- something -else was out there.

 

He quickly reached for his pistol and un-holstered it in a fluid motion that spoke of years of practice. He looked around him quickly as he took a firm stance. He had no idea where this unseen enemy was, but he knew he was out there. And before he knew what was happening, a loud screech pierced the night and out of the woods charged a gray beast that was twice his size. And it seemed to be heading straight for him.

 

Marcone’s eyes widened, but he held his ground as he fired off three shots at the beast. It faltered with each bullet, but kept charging at him, its red eyes glowing furious in the dark. He fired off two more shots as it drew closer, but realized that bullets didn’t seem to work on magical creatures and he turned and ran. He was looking for a place to hide, anyplace would do at this point.

 

The creature behind him growled and squealed as it drew closer; its furry, mangy body and long snout pointing directly at him. He glanced back only once and saw the beast opening its mouth to reveal rows of sharp, jagged looking animal fangs. In another step the creature would be able to bring down those yellow stained teeth on his head. Marcone turned back around and tried to pick up speed, but a misplaced step sent him stumbling forward.

 

He went tumbling to the ground and he placed his arms in front of him to break his fall. As soon as he hit the ground he didn’t stop even for a minute before rolling out of the way. When the creature had seen Marcone fall it lunged at him, but when Marcone rolled, the beast only managed to graze his side as he rolled out of its path. But it was all over now. Marcone had no where to roll to and he wouldn’t be able to get back on his feet again before the beast pounced on him.

 

He could only lay there and watch as the creature jumped up on its abnormally long hind legs and lunged for Marcone once more. And in that second, Marcone closed his eyes and braced himself for the inevitable pain.

 

He heard a scream and remembered thinking that he had made that noise. But he felt no pain. Was his body in such shock that it didn’t feel anything? Visions of bloody and severed limbs- his presumably -being strung about by bloody fangs, danced across his vision. He was scared to open his eyes, but when the next few seconds also didn’t bring pain, Marcone ventured a look.

 

When he opened his eyes, it wasn’t the sight of the beast gnawing on his limbs that greeted him, but the sight of someone in a El Dorado duster standing over him with his hands outstretched, shield bracelet glowing on one wrist and blasting rod in his other hand.

 

As his senses finally came back to him he heard another scream and realized it was coming from the beast and not him. Harry was chanting random Latin phrases and the creature- that looked like a rat with long, Olympic runner’s legs and no tail -went up in flames cast out at the tip of the blasting rod.

 

It squealed and whined as its body burned to black. Its red eyes, glowing even brighter as it cooked alive in its own flesh. And as Marcone looked up at Harry who still stood tall over him, he noticed the hard, focused look he gave the creature. And they stayed like that for a long time as the creature died, until its cries of pain could no longer be heard and its body was nothing more than burning embers and ash.

 

The town’s people were getting closer now. They had first came out when the beast let out a loud, earth shaking, scream when it hit Harry’s shield when it had charged for Marcone, but had kept their distance till the creature was dead. Now they were starting to swarm around like flies on a carcass.

 

“You okay?” Asked Harry as he bent over and offered Marcone his hand.

 

“Yeah,” Marcone replied, numbly, as he took the offered hand and was pulled up onto his feet. He was taken by Harry’s expression. It was so unlike Harry that Marcone didn’t know what to make of it. Harry looked emotionless, yet at the same time determined and focused, and suddenly Marcone was back to the first time he and Harry had met.

 

_You seem to always be saving me._

 

As the crowd grew closer he noticed Harry’s eyes dart back and forth and realized he was actually sizing everyone up. “What was that!?” He heard someone yell.

 

“A demon!” Another yelled and a chorus of shouts and screams were all that could be heard.

 

“Who are you!?” Yelled someone in the back to Harry. He turned to look at the person and opened his mouth to replied, but someone answered for him.

 

“That’s Harry Dresden! He’s a Satan worshiper!”

 

“Is not!” Yelled another person.

 

“He blew up that beast with just a stick! Of course, he’s into the dark arts!”

 

“He’s a good man!”

 

It went on like this for awhile, Harry looking impassive and- in Marcone’s opinion -sad. And, suddenly, Marcone realized that Harry and he were two sides to the same coin. They may look and seem different, but they were same. Both doing unpleasant things to save other’s lives and getting treated badly for it.

 

“Well then what should we do with the wizard!?”

 

“Nothing! If we do something he’ll place a curse on us!”

 

Marcone saw Harry sneer and roll his eyes.

 

“He wouldn’t do that! He’s a nice guy!”

 

“Yeah!”

 

“Hey! Isn’t he staying at Nathaniel’s farm!?”

 

Harry turned to look at the person who said this and just as he did a voice from behind cut in. “Yes, he is staying with me and my family. What of it?” Everyone turned and watched as a tall, broad shouldered man with sandy blond hair walked up and over to Harry.

 

“Nathaniel how can you keep a Satan worshiper in your house!? And around your kids, nonetheless!?” Demanded an elderly woman in a gray, frayed shawl.

 

“Because Harry is a good friend and would do no harm to anyone who wasn’t trying to do harm to another,” coolly replied Nathaniel.

 

“Oh yeah?” Asked the old woman. “But what if he gets out of control, and does that,” the woman pointed to the charred remains of the giant rat, her shawl slipping from one shoulder as she did so, “to one of us on accident.”

 

“Harry would never,” argued Nathaniel.

 

“That’s right,” agreed Marcone.

 

A few people in the crowd made noises and shouts of approval and agreement. Nathaniel turned his head to Marcone and gave him a curious look.

 

“Listen,” started Harry, the first time since the mob had gathered that he spoke directly to them. “I don’t want any trouble. I-” But before he could finish someone interrupted him.

 

“Then leave! Whenever you come around you bring trouble with you. Last time it was, what you called a werewolf and now… This!”

 

“Fine.” Harry nodded his head. “If that would please you all I will leave.”

 

“Tonight!”

 

“This instant!”

 

“He just saved us from a monster! It’s unfair to make him leave!”

 

“He could have brought the monster with him!”

 

“Trickery! The Devil’s trickery, I tell you!”

 

The crowd argued amongst themselves, but it didn’t matter, Harry had already left the ring of people and was on his way back to Nathaniel’s house to get the rest of his stuff, Nathaniel walking right beside him and Marcone not too far behind.

 

“You don’t have to leave Harry,” said Nathaniel. “You know you are more than welcome to stay with me and my family whenever you like, for however long you like.”

 

“I know Nate,” replied Harry with a sad smile. “But I’ve seemed to over stay my welcome in the town and I rather not get you and your family into any more trouble.”

 

Nathaniel huffed. “Please. What do I care about what those idiots in town think? I don’t.”

 

“That’s alright Nate.”

 

“But then where will you stay for the night? The train doesn’t come till morning and no one will let you stay in town.”

 

“With me,” cut in Marcone as he ran up to the duo. Up until now he had been keeping his distance behind them, but still within hearing range.

 

“And you are?” Asked Nathaniel, with a skeptical eye to the new man.

 

“An old friend of Harry’s.”

 

“Nathaniel Davids,” stated Harry, blandly, as he motioned to Marcone. “Meet Gentleman Johnny Marcone of Chicago.” Then he motioned from Marcone to Nathaniel. “Marcone meet Nathaniel. But I’m sure you already knew who he was.” Harry let out a tired sigh. Really, he was getting too old for this stuff. This stuff meaning chasing down demon field rats, taking cross country trains to the middle of no where, getting verbally attacked by a horde of angry town’s people, and getting stalked by a mob boss. “Marcone, what are you doing here?”

 

“Well, I was on vacation,” stated Marcone with a charming smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Nathaniel was sizing him up. Nathaniel was tall and nothing but muscle. Tanned from working in the sun and his hands were weather-worn and calloused from years of working in the field. He had the build of a man that was not to be reckoned with, but with a face that showed kindness and determination with his sandy blond locks that reached down past his ears and soft eyes.

 

Marcone ignored Nathaniel’s intense stare and focused on Harry who looked at him with a disbelieving frown. “Yeah right.”

 

“Believe what you will.”

 

“Harry, I think you should just stay with me for the night,” interrupted Nathaniel, giving Marcone a long, hard look before turning to Harry.

 

_So that’s how it is._

 

Marcone gave Nathaniel his own hard stare. “And have every town’s man knocking down your door demanding Harry to be burned at the stake. I think not.”

 

Nathaniel just turned and looked hard and disbelieving at Marcone, but Marcone was all cool calculating businessman. “Harry, I thought you said this man was only an acquaintance of your’s?”

 

Marcone’s ears perked up at this. So Harry had been talking to Nathaniel about him. He wondered what he had said.

 

“He is,” answered Harry.

 

“But I thought we were friends, Harry,” replied Marcone, coolly. “We do go way back.”

 

“Yes, we do, but I don’t know if what we have going on can be considered friendship.”

 

“So you two have something going on?” Asked Nathaniel. “But then how are you two just acquaintances?”

 

“We are just acquaintances,” stated Harry, feeling a bit lost all of the sudden.

 

“Then how do you two have something going on between the both of you? And what exactly is it?”

 

“It’s complicated.”

 

“Actually, it’s not,” cut in Marcone, turning his attention to a confused Nathaniel. “We’ve known each other since we were both kids. And he seems to continually be saving me from monsters.”

 

“That’s not completely true.” Harry stated, acting all the more like a cheating husband who just got caught by his wife and was trying to explain what happened.

 

“But it’s not a lie, is it?” Asked Marcone with a smirk as he watched Harry try to grapple with words.

 

“No, but…” Harry’s mouth moved but no words seemed to come out.

 

“But what Harry?” Demanded Nathaniel. “Did you know him when you were kids or didn’t you?”

 

“Yes, I knew him when we were kids, but…” Harry only seemed to be digging himself into a deeper hole. And it seemed like he knew it too.

 

“So, he’s not lying and you two are friends?”

 

“Yes! No!”

 

“Well, which is it!?”

 

“Both! Yes, we’ve known each other for a long time. No, we are not friends.”

 

“Well,” interrupted Marcone. “Not close friends.”

 

“Harry, of all you’ve told me about this man, I thought you two were enemies.” Nathaniel gave Harry a stern look.

 

“It doesn’t matter!” Harry practically yelled as he threw up his hands in agitation. “What matters is that I gotta go. I’ll camp out in the woods if I must.”

 

“You can stay with me,” said Nathaniel.

 

“But he won’t, because he’s staying with me,” stated Marcone and then it was another staring contest between him and Nathaniel. Harry just stared at them, eyes darting from one to the other.

 

“Enough! Both of you!” Cried Harry. “Nathaniel I’ll go back to your house and get my stuff and you stay with your family, and I’ll…” Harry sighed as he resigned to his fate. “Go with Marcone. I have a few questions for him anyways.”

 

“Harry are you sure that’s such a wise idea?” Asked Nathaniel, concern in his eyes as he looked at Harry.

 

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Harry waved him off. “Like he said, we’re friends.” Marcone smirked.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Marcone was able to easily sneak Harry into his room at the B and B, since a majority of the town’s people were still out in the field making a fuss over Harry and the barbequed rat.

 

“Home sweet home, I guess,” mumbled Harry as he tossed his bag down onto the floor next to a chair, before sitting in said chair. Marcone chuckled. “Not exactly the Ritz. Didn’t think you’d stay in anything you either didn’t own or had less than a five star rating.”

 

“Well, that just proves how little you really know about me then,” replied Marcone as he took off his holster and took the gun out of it.

 

“But if there’s one thing I do know about you, it’s that you never go anywhere without one of those.” Harry motioned to the pistol in Marcone’s hands.

 

“And as you also know, I need all the protection I can get.”

 

Marcone turned away from Harry as he checked the magazine in his pistol before walking over to his closet and pulling out a full one from his bag.

 

“You’re bleeding,” stated Harry and Marcone turned and looked at the worried and slightly agitated wizard.

 

“What?”

 

Harry stood and walked over to where Marcone was kneeling in front of his duffle bag and placing a new magazine into his pistol. “Your side is bleeding. I didn’t see it before because it was dark, but now I do.”

 

Marcone turned and looked down at his side, where Harry was staring, and saw that his blue T-shirt was dark with blood. “I hadn’t even realized.” Harry reached out and took the edge of Marcone’s shirt in hand and lifted it up.

 

“Does it hurt?” Asked Harry, once he had peeled the bloody cloth away from Marcone’s body and was able to look at the long gash.

 

“No. It tingles though,” answered Marcone as he watched Harry closely. “It’s like that feeling you get when your arm or leg falls asleep.”

 

“Take off your shirt so I can clean your wound and get a better look at it,” stated Harry as he rose and took some towels from the closet.

 

“That’s okay. I can get it. Besides, it’s just a little scratch.”

 

Harry was now over at the desk by the bed that held a pitched of water and a bowl. “Don’t be stubborn,” Harry replied as he wet the towel and looked back, expectantly, at Marcone, who sighed in reply and took off his shirt. “Now sit on the bed.”

 

Marcone did as he was told and Harry was thankful that the town wasn’t so anti-technology that they didn’t have electricity. Cleaning Marcone’s wounds would have been much harder doing it by candle light than artificial light. Harry lightly pressed the wet cloth against Marcone’s bruised and bloody side and, suddenly, Marcone felt a sharp stab of pain there. He looked down at his side as Harry worked.

 

“How bad is it?” Asked Marcone.

 

“Not bad at all really,” answered Harry as he got the blood cleaned away and was able to see the cut. “The cut’s not deep, just long with bruising around it. But it won’t need stitches, it’s not infected, and the bleeding’s stopped, so that’s good.”

 

Marcone hummed in agreement as Harry tossed the bloody rag away and grabbed a dry one to wipe up the blood that had spilled from Marcone’s cut while he had been cleaning it. Marcone watched in silence as Harry did all this and was starting to feel a weird fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach at how gentle Harry was being. A man in his position didn’t usually get treated gently. He had grown used to this fact, but that didn’t mean he didn’t sometimes want to be treated gently.

 

“You never did tell me the real reason you came here,” stated Harry, breaking the silence. He finished drying Marcone’s side and looked up to stare at the other man in the eye.

 

“I thought it was obvious,” stated Marcone, with a sort of calm and cool disposition that only he could pull off.

 

Harry snorted and gave him a half grin. “Stereotypical male here,” he stated. “So, I’m afraid, you’ll have to be a bit more blunt.”

 

Marcone stared deep into Harry’s dark brown eyes, no longer fearing a soul gaze with the wizard. In fact, now he was searching those very same eyes for a hint of the same feelings he was feeling for the wizard. “Truth be told,” Started Marcone, softly, “I don’t even know why.” Harry snorted and looked at Marcone’s cut again.

 

“It’s no wonder why goblins and demons are always chasing you,” grumbled Harry as he carefully prodded Marcone’s side. Marcone silently wondered what he was doing, but said nothing because he liked the feel of Harry’s hands on his bare skin. “You go running around, most of the time, not knowing what you’re doing. It’s a good thing I always seem to be there to save you then.” Suddenly, Harry got this lopsided, goofy grin on his face as he looked up at Marcone. “I guess that makes me your knight in shining armor and you my damsel in distress.” Harry snickered at the agitated look Marcone was giving him. He just loved ruffling Marcone’s feathers, so to speak.

 

“Mister Dresden, if you’re done poking fun at my limited knowledge of magical creatures,” stated Marcone, dryly, “may I inquire as to what you are looking for on my body.”

 

“I could say no and make you guess,” stated Harry. Marcone quirked an eyebrow at him. “But I won’t. I’m just worried that maybe some poison could have entered your bloodstream, via the demon’s claws.”

 

“What?” Asked Marcone, more concerned about the cut now then he had been.

 

“Don’t worry. It’s nothing I can’t fix, even if you are poisoned. But I don’t think you are.” Harry stood and took off his duster and boots, placing them under the chair he had been sitting in previously. He walked back over to Marcone and knelt on the bed next to him, placing one palm over the cut and another palm over the top of the other.

 

“W-what are you doing?” Asked Marcone, worried as Harry started to apply pressure to his wounds.

 

“I’m going to pour some of my _clean_ magic into your wound to flush out the poison, if there’s any in your system,” explained Harry.

 

“Oh.” Marcone was silent for a moment as he watched Harry focus hard on his overlapping hands on his side, when suddenly the light over head popped and went out. Marcone actually jumped in surprise.

 

“Oops,” stated Harry with a breathy laugh.

 

“Oops? What was that oops for?” Marcone stared at Harry with wide, fearful eyes. Magic made him uncomfortable. And here Harry was pumping magic straight into him. Did he really trust Harry that much to let the wizard do that to him?

 

“Well,” explained Harry, drawling out the word. “Magic and electronics don’t really bond well. Especially with me added into the equation.” Marcone made a mental note of that, but didn’t say anything more.

 

Suddenly, his side felt very warm as Harry began to focus his energy into Marcone’s open wound. The warm feeling slowly started to spread throughout his body and Marcone was both fearful and excited. Fearful for what Harry was doing to him, but excited at the sensations he was feeling.

 

The magic tingled through his body in little jolts of pleasure and warmth. Marcone imagined waves of Harry’s magic pouring from his body and washing over his own. It covered him from head to toe, seeping into every pore, suffocating him, blocking out the world around him. But, strangely, it was all very comforting.

 

Marcone’s eyes drooped and shoulders sagged in relaxation. He looked at Harry’s face that was still focused on his hands and remembered wondering if Harry had placed a spell over him.

 

_He’s done something,_ thought Marcone, basking in the warmth that was Harry’s magic.  _But I don’t think it’s bad. I still have a will of my own. I can control my body._

 

No, Marcone decided, Harry had not cursed him or placed him under a spell.

 

In the next moment, Marcone felt the waves of warmth and pleasure that had been slowly rolling over him, pull back. The feeling seeped out of him and back out through the cut in his side, leaving a tingling and cool, but not cold, feeling in its wake.

 

Harry removed his hands as he bent over very low to look closely at Marcone’s cut in the dim light of the room. Marcone could see him smile as he let out a contented sigh and moved away from him, leaving Marcone feeling slightly empty and sad.

 

“Good news,” boasted Harry as he sat back on the bed next to the other man, “you had no poison in your system.”

 

“That’s good to hear,” mumbled Marcone.

 

“And even better news. My magic seemed to have healed your cut a bit. Not much. But still enough you don’t have to worry about bleeding if you move too much.”

 

Marcone glanced down at his side and touched his wound. Sure enough, the once open and fresh cut was now smaller and scabbed over. “Thank you,” replied Marcone in awe as he looked up at Harry.

 

Harry looked smug as he looked back at Marcone. Or, more precisely, Marcone believed he looked smug for what he could see of the other man in the dim lighting of the room. Since Harry had blown out the light the only thing that was illuminating the room was the bright, moon light that shined through the window.

 

“Well, we should get some sleep.” Stated Harry as he stood from the bed and stretched. “It would seem that I have a train to catch early in the morning.”

 

But as Harry started to move away from the bed, Marcone reached out and grabbed the wizard by the hem of his T-shirt. “I-,” started Marcone with uncertainty, but never got to finish before Harry cut him off.

 

“Don’t worry. You can have the bed. I’ll sleep in the chair.” Harry threw his thumb in the direction of the chair that was next to the door, where he had placed his shoes and duster.

 

“That’s not-” Marcone let out a tired sigh. “That’s not what I was about to say. I just…” The mob boss let go of Harry and instead ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair.

 

_Oh gosh,_ thought Harry with a mental sigh,  _I can feel one of those deep, meaningful conversations, where we both leave here with a different perspective of the other, coming on._

 

“Listen Marcone,” said Harry. And this time he really did sigh. “This doesn’t have to be awkward or anything. I stay here for the night, in the morning I catch a train outta here and head back to Chicago. Later, you catch a different train and also go back to Chicago. We both go back to our respective jobs and pretend tonight never happened. That’s what you want, right?”

 

“No! It’s not!” Marcone practically shouted. He was feeling aggravated and exasperated. And more with himself than at Harry, but he couldn’t help venting a little at the other man. “Harry for a private investigator you’re awfully dense sometimes!” Harry got this confused and indignant look on his face, but didn’t interrupt Marcone as he stood up from the bed and faced the wizard. “Did you know that I searched for you when you first disappeared, after killing Justin? I looked for months. I was so worried about you.” Harry shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. He hadn’t known that Marcone had looked that hard for him. Marcone stood in front of him, staring up at the taller man. “And you know what? I did all that without even knowing that much about you. I mean, I didn’t even know your last name. And then I found you again and suddenly it felt like someone had turned on the heat to a cold room. And at first I didn’t know what that meant. Do you know what that’s like for a man like me? A man in my position?” Harry didn’t say anything, he just adverted his eyes away from Marcone’s. This was getting too serious, too deep, for him, but he wasn’t going to run away from the other man. And Marcone wasn’t going to stop until he had spoken his truths. Marcone let out a heavy sigh as he sat back down on the bed, one hand reaching up and rubbing at his temple. “I feel like an old man playing a fool’s game. Logically, I know that what I’m feeling and doing is irrational, and quite frankly just a bit creepy.

 

_Practically stalker like, actually_ , he thought to himself.

 

“I feel good and bad and mad and confused all at the same time. Feelings were never my strong point. I was always good at looking at things through a business point of view. Because I knew that if I let my feeling get the better of me, I’d go overboard with them.” Marcone scrubbed his hand down his face. He suddenly felt very weary and he didn’t dare look up at Harry. “Like I said, I feel like an old man being made a fool of by his feelings.”

 

“So, then what are you trying to tell me, Marcone?” Harry asked, moving very, very slowly toward the other man, eyebrow raised once more in question.

 

Marcone let out one biting laugh.  _Of course Harry wouldn’t pick up on the hints. He’s super dense._ Marcone turned his head and faced Harry, staring at what could be seen of the wizard’s face in the dark room. “What I’m saying, Harry is that I think I might like you. A lot.”

 

The white of Harry’s eyes practically glowed in the dark as his eyes grew wider and he continued to stare at Marcone, frozen in place next to the bed. “Like you, like, like me?” Questioned Harry.

 

Marcone rolled his eyes at Harry’s choice of phrasing. “At the risk of sounding like a thirteen year old girl, yes, Harry. I am trying to tell you that I like, like you.”

 

“Um,” Harry swallowed the thick lump in his throat as he blinked at Marcone. “I-”

 

_I told you that you’d pay for your little joke on Marcone_ , arrogantly stated the little voice in Harry’s head.  _Oh shut up! I don’t need this right now._

 

“But you don’t like me,” whispered Marcone, and although he had tried to mask the hurt he was feeling, he couldn’t quite keep it out of his eyes. He never could completely mask his feelings when he was around Harry. “I understand. I mean, look at us.” Marcone gestured between the two of them. “A wizard and a mob boss. A combination for disaster, either for ourselves or everyone else.” Marcone sighed as he placed his head in his hands.

 

Harry moved closer to the older man, suddenly feeling bad for, unintentionally, leading the guy on.  _Ah! Dang you conscious and chivalry! You’re always getting me into tight spots._ By all rights he should just leave now. Camp out in the woods and let Marcone swim in his misery.  _I mean, we’re enemies! …Aren’t we?_ Harry wasn’t so sure anymore and it was confusing him. Harry stared down at the mafia Don; he startlingly seemed so human right now. He didn’t remind Harry of the cold and cruel Mafioso that he knew. No, now he reminded him of the teenage boy who was still new to the world of crime, still trying to find his place in the world, and who was still so open with his emotions and still a bit vulnerable.

 

Harry sat down on the bed next to Marcone, but the other man didn’t acknowledge him. This was all so much for Harry to take in and to top it all off, he was now having conflicting feeling with his conflicting thoughts. When they were younger he could have easily considered them friends. In fact, he would have liked to even. Harry actually really liked Marcone. It was what he did that he didn’t like. No. That’s not completely true. He admired the other man for being able to protect the people and children of Chicago in ways that even the police could not. What he didn’t like was his methods. So really? Did he really hate Marcone that much? No, he supposed not, but then begged the question, what did he feel toward Marcone?

 

“I- I,” stuttered Harry, staring straight ahead of him, avoiding looking at Marcone. “I don’t hate you.” Harry felt the bed shift and knew Marcone was now staring at him and it made Harry want to squirm in his seat but he didn’t. He sighed again. “In fact, I like you. Probably not to the extent that you like me, but…” Harry struggled to find the right words. “I do like you as a person. Not the things you do, but I know that deep, deep down, at your core, somewhere in there, that your reasons for doing those things are good.”

 

The silence stretched on for a few more minutes, and Harry still didn’t dare look at Marcone, but he could feel the other man’s eyes on him. “Really?” Marcone asked. And Harry turned his head to look at the other man and what he saw made his heart lurch. There was hope in those money green eyes, and it was the kind of child like hope that made your heart melt.

 

“Yeah. Really,” whispered back Harry.

 

He didn’t know what had happened or how it had happened or even why he did nothing. But the next thing Harry knew, Marcone had reached up and started stroking his cheek with his thumb and he didn’t even try to pull away. Everything seemed to move in slow motion and skipped scenes. One minute Marcone was just stroking his cheek and the next he was sitting in front of Harry, pulling the wizard’s face closer to his own.

 

Their lips met in a slow and gentle kiss. It was nothing demanding, but it wasn’t mind-blowing either, it was more like an inquiry. Marcone’s way of asking permission to touch, hold, kiss, and taste more of Harry. Whether or not he went further or completely stopped depended on Harry’s reaction. Whether or not Harry returned his kiss.

 

Seconds felt like hours to Marcone and he was just pulling away when Harry leaned forward and kissed him back.

 


	12. Chapter 12

_ What in Merlin’s name am I doing!? _ This thought came to Harry about a second too late as he kissed Marcone back. He knew he should stop this right here, but for some reason couldn’t find the will to pull away from Marcone.

 

The kiss deepened and all coherent thoughts started to leave Harry. Marcone was a dominant and solid force, guiding him back onto the bed with the gentleness of an old, caring friend. Harry felt a moment of fear as he lay out on the bed, Marcone’s hand slowly creeping under his shirt. Did he really want this? What exactly were his feelings toward the other man? A moment ago he was sure they were enemies and then he finally convinced himself that they were old friends and now, what? They were lovers? Somehow things seemed to move at a super fast rate with them two.

 

Harry felt nervous and jittery. He was starting to feel his fight or flight instincts wanting to take over. But then Marcone was looking deep into his eyes, his hand rubbing soothing circles on his stomach. He knew that Harry felt uncomfortable and the last thing he wanted was to scare the other man away.

 

Marcone placed a light kiss to Harry’s lips, hand still running circles on his stomach but not moving from that spot. “John I-” Harry started, but Marcone just shushed him and placed another chaste kiss to his forehead.

 

“We don’t have to do anything that you’re not ready for,” stated Marcone. “I just want you near me.”

 

Harry was suddenly taken back to their soul gaze and to what he saw in Marcone’s soul. He wondered, briefly, what the other man had seen in his soul too. He wondered if he had seen all the dark and scary stuff that wandered around in his soul. If he had seen all the scary things that plagued his dreams. If he had seen what he had done to Justin. Suddenly, he was the one that felt bad. Like he was the drug dealer, murderer, and kingpin of Chicago about to bed a sweet, innocent flower. Not that Harry was a sweet, innocent flower, himself, but you get the idea.

 

“Harry, what’s bothering you?” Asked Marcone. He was lying next to Harry now, on his side, and propped up on one elbow while his other hand was running circles on Harry’s chest and stomach.

 

_Damn that man’s ability to see right through me,_ Harry hissed to himself.

 

“How-” Harry stopped and took in a deep breath. This wasn’t an easy subject for him to bring up. Or for any wizard actually, he presumed. “What did you see in our soul gaze?”

 

Marcone stared at Harry for a long moment, with this look that was almost comical on him. Almost, he was still too handsome to ever look truly comical or ugly. “What do you mean Harry?”

 

It was then Harry realized that Marcone didn’t know that Harry didn’t know what he had seen in their soul gaze. So he explained. “I saw your soul and you saw mine, but I have no idea what you saw in me, like you don’t know exactly what I saw in you.”

 

“Never really thought about it,” confessed Marcone, now running his hand up and down Harry’s chest.

 

“A soul gaze is something very…” Harry knew the word that fit sounded so feminine- gay -and he really didn’t need to sound feminine. It might give Marcone the wrong idea. For he certainly was no girl. But no other words- that sounded less feminine -came to him. “Special.”

 

That got Marcone’s attention and he stopped his ministrations as he looked at Harry. Was Harry saying what he thought he was saying? That he and Harry had shared in something special? He definitely hoped so. He really liked that idea. Marcone leaned over and kissed Harry again on the lips, this time applying a bit more pressure as he slid his tongue into the other man’s mouth.

 

Harry opened his mouth, willingly, to the mob boss, enjoying the other man’s kisses more than he thought he should. In the next second, Marcone was over top of him, tongue down his throat and hands under his shirt. Harry moaned- rather loudly too -when Marcone pinched his nipple. And that surprised him. He never knew that to be a very erogenous area for him.

 

Marcone smiled into the kiss as he pinched Harry’s nipple again, causing the wizard to moan again. That sound did terrible things to his nether regions. Terribly good things, that was. Harry’s own hands came up and slid up and down Marcone’s flat chest and broad shoulders, lighting a fire everywhere they touched. It was sinfully delicious. He growled deep in his throat when Harry carded his fingers through his hair.

 

Harry broke their kiss and pulled away for air, Marcone following after him. Harry turned his head as Marcone leaned down and kissed his neck, and Harry let out a soft sigh as Marcone kissed his way down his neck, stopping at where the neck met shoulder and biting down softly. Harry let out a short, strangled cry, unprepared for that.

 

“Sorry,” whispered Marcone as he lapped at the area he just bit. “Sorry.”

 

“What was that for?” Whispered back Harry. It seemed so out of place. They were going at a slow and leisurely pace, but then Marcone had bit him. Although, he really didn’t know Marcone that well. Maybe this was normal for him. Maybe he liked it rough.

 

“I don’t know,” whispered back Marcone, honestly, as he took a hold of Harry’s shirt. “Sorry if I hurt you.” He tugged the shirt up and Harry lifted his arms so that Marcone could more easily slip the garment over his head. Marcone got the shirt up to Harry’s wrists before he stopped and twisted up the shirt till Harry’s wrists were tightly wrapped up in them.

 

“John?” Questioned Harry as Marcone held his wrists down above his head with one hand. Marcone could hear the slightest bit of fear in Harry’s voice. So he kissed him chastely on the lips before quickly moving down to his chest before Harry could say another word. He could tell that Harry did not like being held down, so he’d just have to show him that he wouldn’t hurt him. No, quite the opposite really.

 

Marcone quickly ran his tongue down Harry’s chest, stopping when he reached a nipple before swirling his tongue around it. He heard Harry sharply intake a breath and he arched his back off the bed and closer to Marcone. And for a moment he had stopped struggling against Marcone’s restraints. He liked Harry like this; panting, arching into him, practically begging Marcone for his touch. But what he liked most was the way Harry was looking at him now, with lust clouded eyes and kiss swollen lips.

 

Marcone’s eyes raked over Harry’s stretched out body beneath him and for a moment Harry didn’t say anything, nor did he try to wiggle out of Marcone’s grasp. Sure, he wasn’t too keen on being held down, but he was slowly starting to understand why Marcone had done that and why he had bitten his neck. When he had gazed into the other man’s soul for the first time he had seen a predator. A tiger, to be exact. And all this was a show of dominance and possession. And so he had to treat Marcone like a wild tiger. All slow movements and soft words.

 

“You know,” started Harry, softly, as he wiggled beneath Marcone, causing a sensuous friction between their groins. “If you let me go, I can return the favors.”

 

Marcone groaned at the feeling as Harry continued to wiggle under him and look up at him like that. “Yeah,” breathed Marcone. “I will.” He leaned down and kissed Harry’s jaw, feeling the strange texture of the stubble of Harry’s face on his lips. “But later.”

 

He worked his way up Harry’s jaw and flicked his tongue out against the shell of Harry’s ear, before biting down lightly on it, making sure that it wouldn’t leave a mark. His free hand had found its way to the hem of Harry’s jeans and he really wanted to slip it under the fabric to the pulsing member that was under it, but felt he needed more permission first, so he settled for palming Harry through the garment.

 

“Harry,” breathed Marcone, “can I touch you?”

 

“You are touching me,” answered Harry.

 

Marcone chuckled at Harry’s answer. “I meant, can I  _touch_ ,” Marcone squeezed Harry, lightly, causing the wizard to shudder and grind into his hand, “you.”

 

Harry bit his bottom lip and something about that action went straight to Marcone’s groin. He  _loved_ the way Harry looked when he did that. Suddenly, Harry let out a puff of air as he looked straight into Marcone’s eyes. “Only if you let me touch you too.”

 

Marcone smirked, but easily released Harry’s wrists and in an instant Harry had thrown his shirt onto the floor and was back to kissing Marcone. The mob boss growled low in his throat at how responsive Harry was being as the other man was running his hands up and down his body and sucking on Marcone’s lower lip. It was sexy and electrifying, and Marcone felt a carnal heat wash over him.

 

He made short work of the button and zipper on Harry’s jeans before slipping his hand under them and his underwear. Harry broke their kiss with a gasp as Marcone took a hold of him for the first time, without there being any cloth between them. It was strange and at the same time arousing. And Harry was terrified. He had no idea what to do. Yes, what Marcone was doing felt good. And yes, he’d like to return the favor. But he had never been with another man before and had no idea what to do with one in this kind of situation. He thought Marcone deserved to know as much.

 

“I-I,” stuttered Harry, causing Marcone to look at him. “I’ve never… I haven’t, ever been with a man before.”

 

Of all the things Harry expected Marcone to do after he told him that, smirking wasn’t one of those things. “Good,” stated Marcone, proudly, “Because I really don’t like the idea of sharing you.”

 

_Not to mention, the idea of being your first is incredibly arousing,_ finished Marcone to himself.  _Almost painfully so._

 

Marcone had also never been with a man before either, unless you counted that one time in high school he got really drunk and gave his best male friend a hand job, but Marcone didn’t think that counted. But he wasn’t ignorant to how the mechanics of sex between two males worked. But he doubted Harry was ready for that.

 

He kissed Harry again and tugged down the man’s pants and underwear. Harry helped him get him out of his clothes before reaching up with shaking, nervous, hands and tried to undo the button and zipper on Marcone’s own jeans. His hands kept slipping and he finally had to settle on just slipping his hands into Marcone’s jeans.

 

Marcone let out a pleasurable hiss as Harry took him in hand and slowly started to stroke him. He kissed Harry, viciously, again and they both started to pick up speed.

 

Marcone suddenly felt like a horny teenager on prom night. Harry moaned and moved in ways that had him aching for more. More kisses. More touches. More everything. He felt that Harry had finally worked his fly open, when the wizard had slowly pushed his jeans and underwear down his thighs. And there was no hiding how much Marcone wanted Harry. But that was okay, because he knew that Harry wanted him just as badly.

 

It wasn’t long after that, that both men were flying high and seeing stars. As bare flesh moved across bare flesh. As moans blended into one. As the night around them seemed to wrap them in a dark blanket. They were overwhelmed in a sea of ecstasy, being swallowed up in its sweet caresses, and drowning in its pleasure.

 

As they came down from their pleasurable highs, all that could be heard was the panting of their breaths and the sound of crickets singing songs outside their window. Neither man said anything for a minute and just lay next to one another on the bed. Their minds racing along with their heart beats, and now that it wasn’t clouded by pleasuring endorphins and other hormones they were contemplating what this all meant.

 

Harry was the first one to break the silence. “John I-”

 

Marcone shushed him as he leaned over and gave a feather light kiss to his lips. He could tell from his tone what Harry was about to say. “Don’t. Just don’t. For tonight, I just want to hold you,” he whispered into Harry’s ear as he pulled the other man closer, practically laying him on top of his chest. “Tomorrow we can deal with repercussions. But for tonight, just be mine.”

 

Harry said nothing. He decided that the worries of the world could be put on hold for one night. And for just one night, he could let himself belong to Marcone. He laid his head on Marcone’s shoulder and listened to the soothing rhythm of the other man’s breath as he breathed in and out. This was nice, he decided. To be held and not have to be strong or to pretend you had all the answers. It was nice to simply be in the company of another who truly accepted you just as you were; faults and all.

 

Marcone ran his fingers through Harry’s unruly hair, enjoying the fact that, for once, the other man wasn’t fighting him. He loved having Harry so close to him. He loved being able to hold him in his arms. And, silently, he wished time would stop, so that he could have this moment forever.

 

“Harry,” Marcone whispered as both he and Harry were starting to drift off to sleep.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I think I might love you.”

 

Harry was quite for a moment and Marcone worried that he may have crossed some line that would scare the other man away, but with a trembling voice Harry replied.

 

“I think…” Harry started. “That I might love you too.”

 

That brought a smile to Marcone’s face and a warm feeling to his chest. And while he wanted to tell Harry a million things, he settled on just kissing the top of the other man’s head. And they both drifted off to sleep, both sleeping better than they had in years.

 

And in the morning, as the sun peeked over the horizon and a few rays flitted in through the curtains and covered them in an orange glow, they were found to be wrapped in each other’s embrace, sound asleep and safe in each other’s arms.

 

For a moment, one could presume that this was a happy ending to a short fairytale, but life is always more complicated than that. However, life is also beautiful and mysterious. Where one story ends, another just begins.

 

The End

Terminus

Das Ende

Owari

Fin

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you thought about it!


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